


The Girl With the Black Dragon Tattoo

by Ninjaviolinist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family, POV First Person, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad and Happy, Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 104,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaviolinist/pseuds/Ninjaviolinist
Summary: Sam. Dean. Crowley. Castiel. The man I would never forgive. The one whose heart I would break. The demon who would save my life. And the angel who would both love me and betray me.





	1. 1

_Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by other people that aren’t me._

* * *

**SPOILER WARNING** : This fic begins at the beginning of **Season Five** and will contain spoilers for all subsequent seasons.

* * *

**CAUTION: The following is rated DSLV. It will contain strong language, sexual situations, and violence. Eyeball to device discretion is advised.**

* * *

My name is Evangeline Chung, thirty-five years old. Long black hair, 5’6”, athletic (but not bulky)…

Currently collared and chained to the Throne of Hell like some kind of dog.

The situation sounds terrible, I know, but it could be worse. I mean, the deposed King is on the other side, similarly bound, being treated as if he _were_ a dog, right down to the “Heel! Sit! Lick the floor!” commands. All I’ve gotten so far are gentle strokes to my hair and face, reminders from Lucifer of why I’d submitted to being bound. See, contrary to popular belief the Devil isn’t a demon; he’s an _archangel_. It means whatever body he inhabits on Earth must belong to a willing participant; those are the rules for heavenly denizens (by contrast, demons can swoop down the throat of whomever, or whatever, they want). They call them their vessels or, more crudely, their meatsuits.

His _current_ vessel is the man, no, the _angel_ who fell in love with me, and I fell in love with in return.

Castiel owed me a big fucking explanation for why this had gone down. There _had_ to have been other options, something that would have prevented this scenario where Lucifer was keeping his little brother’s vessel hostage against my and the Winchesters’ good behavior.

Ah, _Sam and Dean Winchester_. If it weren’t for them I would have never been anywhere close to this mess. I mean, sure, I would have probably ended up a drained corpse in the middle of a vampire nest, but that’s neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is this: the warm, oh so familiar hand of Castiel is resting on my cheek, and if I don’t submit to Lucifer’s every demand I get to watch my lover and my friends die slow.

This is so fucked up. And it all started with a chance encounter six years ago in Garber, Oklahoma.

* * *

I made it into Garber at the same time as the men I had so lovingly dubbed the Douchebag Trio: Steve Bose, Reggie Hull, and Tim Janklow. We had history. At that point in my life I was unabashedly promiscuous. I know now that it was a product of the trauma I’d experienced, but at the time I’d convinced myself that it was my body and I was going to do whatever the fuck I wanted with it.

The four of us used to have a pleasant working relationship, but after I’d begun sleeping with Reggie I discovered that the man wanted more than just sex. When I blew him off the other two turned Mean Girls on me and suddenly we were no longer friends. I swear to God, men can give teenage girls a run for their money in the bitchiness category.

If I’d known Bobby had called these guys I’d’ve shrugged off the request. Well, maybe not. I might have loathed these assholes, but a) no one deserves the kind of brutal end demons were apt to give, and b) I owed Bobby Singer my life. Kind of made me obligated to fulfill any and all of his requests.

The four of us ended up squaring off in front of one of the local dives, Hoyt’s Bar, where Bobby had said the informant was working. “Run along, girly,” came Tim’s opening salvo. “Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“Go to hell.”

He and his cronies exchanged amused smirks. “Aw, she wants to play with the big boys.”

“Maybe we should _let_ her play,” Steve suggested. “And when we’re done, she can kiss all our boo-boos better.”

Tim and Steve guffawed while Reggie and I got busy glaring at each other. “C’mon,” he said finally, “leave the slut alone and let’s go.” As I followed them in, I considered how funny they’d look headless.

Hoyt’s Bar was almost cliche in appearance. Wooden tables and walls, sports on the television, darts, pool, and alcohol. The Douchebag Trio was settling down at a table where a tall, well-built, shaggy-haired young man was joining them. I sat nearby and flagged the blonde waitress for a beer.

“Bobby called,” Tim said.

“And?” asked the stranger.

“You were right. Major demon block party going on.”

That was the first time I laid eyes on brooding, empathic, guilt-ridden Sam Winchester. Bobby had outlined the man’s fucked up situation. Sort of. Something about Sam and his brother separating. Made me wonder about what happened. I mean Josie, my sister, and I didn’t talk because… well, there were plenty of reasons, first and foremost being that she spent most of her time either drunk or high. Her normal state of mind didn’t make for very stimulating conversation.

I was too busy brooding over my family and finishing my beer to notice that the other table was looking at me. Reggie cleared his throat. “What?” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “I said: you coming with us?”

“Who’s this?” Sam asked.

“Eva Chung,” Tim answered for me. “Thinks she’s a hunter.”

“Yeah?” I threw back. “I bet _you_ think you don’t have a micro-peen. We all have our delusions.”

The three I knew bristled, but I saw Sam lift his hand up to hide a smile. It made me warm up to him. A little. “I’ll come,” I told Reggie.

We all stood. “Good luck,” Sam said quietly.

“Beers are on you when we get back,” Tim said amiably.

“Yeah, you bet,” Sam replied halfheartedly. “And it was nice to meet you,” he said to me. I gave him an appraising look from head to toe before smiling in acknowledgment. Nice body. Handsome. Maybe when all this was done… Unfortunately, there were demons to check on first.

We headed outside and towards the Douche-mobile. Steve was Tim’s best friend, but I sincerely thought that Tim kept him nearby because the man had the _sweetest_ setup in his camper. It had all the bells and whistles: stove, fridge, shower, bunkbeds, even WiFi and charging stations.

I grabbed my sword and its sheathe, a _samjeongdo_ that was given to my grandfather after World War II, out of the saddlebags of my Yamaha before joining the others. Best place to sit was Steve’s dinner table where Reggie was already perched. We ignored each other.

“Got your ching-chong weapon from your ching-chong ride?” Tim asked from the passenger’s seat. I gave him the finger.

Why don’t I have a gun like the rest of these mouth breathers? Frankly, it’s a matter of finances. Bullets cost money. Well, okay. Not a _lot_ of money, but enough. It also involves flashing ID’s and possibly credit cards; both dangerous things to do when your job involves killing creatures that wear human faces. I’ve heard some hunters carry around a bullet forge and use scrap to make their own. I went my own way and sprang for a collapsible bow. Arrows are retrievable, bullets are not.

Okay, I think I’m painting myself as some kind of cartoon heroine, with my Asian weapons and all. Trust me, it’s all either practical or a product of my upbringing. Growing up in a Korean household in San Francisco sort of slates you for certain stereotypes: you eat _kimchi_ , you play the piano, and you learn to be frugal. I did ballet and gymnastics, and after I started hunting I discovered that the flexibility and athleticism translated well to sword fighting. It was a natural progression to my current state.

Reggie checked the clip of his gun while Steve and Tim argued about the destination. I peered out of the blinds. Usual nighttime small town streets. Woods in the background, no people. Peaceful and pleasant if you didn’t know what creeped about in the shadows.

Eventually Steve pulled into the parking lot for the Hawley Five and Dime, one of those twenty-four hour knockoffs of 7–11s. I looked curiously at Reggie. “Cashier is a demon,” he explained.

“And?”

“Trap him,” Steve called as he pulled his shotgun from under his seat. “Make him tell us what’s going on.”

“Here,” Tim said as he tossed me a spray can.

“Where?” I asked.

“Doorway. We’ll drive him out.”

I nodded and the three boys headed inside. I got out of the van a few minutes afterwards, ducking low so that the demon couldn’t see me, and did my job. Star, circle, scribbly runes.

While I was painting I smelled sulfur. The yellow powder had been liberally dusted onto the doormat. At least Larry, Curly, and Moe had gotten the location right, but something struck me as wrong. I got down on my hands and knees to peer a little closer. Was it me or was that _too_ much sulfur for just one demon…? My hackles rose. I stood up and cast my eyes about. Nothing. _Yet_.

I drew my sword from its scabbard. This didn’t feel good, not one bit. A shotgun blast echoed inside the store and killed the opportunity to do a quick recon. Moments later, a scraggly young man bearing black eyes came pelting out of the glass doors. He smacked into an invisible wall and went down. It was almost comical. “Bitch!” he yelled at me.

Nobody likes name calling. I stabbed the thing in the shoulder. Demons can be hurt, despite rumors to the contrary, _and_ I’d had my sword blessed by Pastor Jim (rest in peace). I had the demon shrieking by the time the others made it outside. I twisted the blade just for the hell of it before jerking it out of his flesh.

The trio just grinned approvingly. Sadists. “Now you got yourself some options,” Tim said down to the demon. “You tell us what we wanna know and we don’t let the young lady here stab you no more.”

“Fuck you,” it spat.

Tim nodded at me. I was loathe to take orders from him, but for this I’d make an exception. Into the other shoulder went my steel. A good, long howl erupted from the demon, but when I pulled my blade out again it started laughing.

We all glanced at each other uneasily. “What’s so funny?” Steve demanded.

“You came here because _Sam Winchester_ told you about us, didn’t you?” The voice came out high and thready: this guy was riding a _teenager_. “I figured by now no one would be listening to _him_.”

“Why not?” asked Tim.

“Say please.”

I jabbed the thing in the eye. “Why, please and thank you,” Tim said over the wet sound of its eyeball popping from the socket.

“Why do you think he’s here?” the demon screamed as I whipped the orb off my blade. “Because he and his brother are having marital issues? He’s probably trying to get another fix of _demon blood_. Got himself addicted to the stuff. Made him feel _good_ and _strong_. Strong enough to pop Lucifer’s box for us.”

The others were looking flabbergasted by the revelation. I merely frowned before uttering, “Demon’s lie.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he crooned at me, “not all the time. In fact, I’ll even give you another truth, _just_ because you’re so pretty.” It stood up, blood seeping from both shoulders and the empty hole in his face. “I’m not alone.”

There was a wet thump and squelch. We all looked at Steve. His eyes slowly drifted down to his stomach… where a woman’s lacquered nails were now protruding. Their owner yanked them out and spun Steve around before plunging her fingers back in.

And then she _pulled_.

Whenever I’d been told about a body being “torn apart” I’d always imagined the sort of bloody explosion on a video game. Random pieces of meat flying every which way, no recognizable pieces, red spattering randomly everywhere. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.

Steve folded over, his guts literally _spilling_ onto the concrete with a splat. Blood emptied out of his body in a steady stream, saturating his organs with a thick, crimson liquid. God, _the smell_. Piss and shit and copper all at once in a horrible concoction that caused bile to rise up in my throat. _And he was still alive_. We watched, horrified, as he tried to put his intestines back, desperately scraping and scooping at the mess and gurgling for help.

We all stepped away. The female demon licked blood from her arm, her eyes black from iris to sclera. In another moment there were eight more of them.

Ten demons against three human hunters. We were fucked.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Free to Be You and Me” (SPN 5.03).


	2. 2

You ever completely panic and let your body do whatever it thinks it’s supposed to do? Sometimes we shit ourselves, other times we freeze. Hunters, we tend to get violent.

My hand shot out and impaled the closest demon, someone’s aging soccer mom. It gave a howl in pain as I ripped out the blade. I turned to face another and ducked under a flying fist. Slit his belly open and watched his guts spill just like Steve’s. Whipped my leg around and kicked him in the temple.

This was a nightmare. I’d never faced more than one demon at a time and now there were _ten_. I dodged, stabbed, kicked, and made absolutely no impact on their numbers. Even the one I’d disemboweled was getting back to his feet.

One managed to clip me on the head with what felt like a bat. In the few seconds I was dazed another demon locked my arms behind my back. The guy that had hit me got in close, grabbed my chin, and leered. “I wonder what it’s like to fuck a hunter.”

On the surface, what with the claws and fangs and black eyes, monsters seem inhuman, but get down into the basics and they’ve got the same wants and desires as the rest of us. The difference often was whether their natural hunger had been slaked, be it for flesh, brains, or violence. This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered a sociopathic creature aiming to fulfill more base desires and it wouldn’t be the last.

Demon or not, males are still males. “Not interested,” I replied as my knee snapped up between the bastard’s legs. He folded down. I whipped my head back at the one behind me while he was gaping. Soon as my arms were freed I introduced my fist to his face.

Tim and Reggie made a break for the camper and I followed. We climbed into the late Steve’s ride and slammed the doors shut. I watched the demons gather themselves as Tim dropped the keys from the visor and started the engine. The black eyed fuckers smiled as we peeled out of the parking lot.

I sat down on the aisle between the stove and the table in order to catch my breath. All of us were scraped up, bruised, and bloody. From the passenger’s seat, Reggie attempted to console his friend. “Tim—“

“Shut the fuck up,” the other man snapped.

We drove in silence for several miles, just far enough to feel safe, before Tim pulled to the side of the road. As soon as we were stopped, he began slamming his palms against the steering wheel. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

“What’re we gonna do?” asked Reggie.

“I got me an idea.”

“Take me back to my bike,” I said as I stood up. I leaned over between the two seats so I could make sure they heard me. “Ten demons? Whatever stupid-ass idea you’ve got is suicide.”

“Okay. But first…”

Tim’s fist connected solidly with my temple. Blackout.

Next thing I knew I was being hauled down the camper steps in a fireman’s carry, across black pavement, and through some doorway, its bell blasting in my ears. Through the haze, as I was dropped to my feet, I heard someone cry my name. A moment later a blade was pressed against my throat. That cleared the fog up pretty goddam quick. “The fuck—?”

“Just take it easy, okay?” came Sam Winchester’s voice. “Put the knife down.”

Reggie wasn’t stupid enough to do that, especially since he knew that once he did I‘d grab it and shove it in his throat. In fact, the knife bit a little more. I felt a small trickle of blood go down my neck.

Now I didn’t know Sam from Adam at the time. He might not care that some woman he’d met for all of five minutes was being used as leverage for whatever the Douchebag Trio, sorry, Duo had in mind. Maybe he’d just fight them off and leave me to my fate. Fortunately for me, the man has a hero complex, a trait that gets him in trouble more often than he would like to admit. “Stop!” Sam cried. “It’s true. What the demons said, it’s all true.”

“Keep going,” Tim said, deceptively calm.

“Why? You going to hate me any less? Am I going to hate myself any less? What do you want?” Such a whiner.

“I want to hear you say it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “I did it. I started the Apocalypse.”

Oh. Well then. Of course, the details were more convoluted than could be explained in a single sentence, but at the time I was just angry that this over-grown idiot had doomed us all. But before I could express my outrage I was handcuffed to the service station. It was a sign of just how out of it I was that I hadn’t noticed the bracelets sooner.

I pulled at the cuffs, loudly clanging metal against metal, as Tim withdrew a vial of red liquid from his pocket. “What is that?” a deeply apprehensive Sam asked.

“What do you think it is?” Tim replied triumphantly. “It’s go juice, Sammy boy.”

Demon blood, had to be. The mix of desire and loathing on Sam’s face was ugly. “Get that away from me,” he growled.

“Away from you?” asked Tim. “No. This is _for_ you. Hell, if that demon wasn’t right as rain. Down the hatch, son.”

“Are you _insane_?” I yelled. “We don’t know what that’s going to do to him! For all we know it’s going to make him kill _us_ , you stupid son of a bitch!”

“Will you shut that slut up?” Tim barked at his co-conspirator.

Reggie backhanded me. I’m quite sure he’d been wanting to do that ever since I’d dumped his ass. After spitting blood from a bitten cheek onto the floor, I looked up through stray locks of hair and told the motherfucker, “When I get out of these you’ll have to eat through a _straw_.”

“Look, just leave her alone,” Sam said loudly, “and we can work this out.”

Tim ignored him. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna drink this, Hulk out, and you’re gonna waste every one of the demon scum that killed my best friend.”

Confident I was secured, Reggie joined his friend in advancing on the taller hunter. Tim held out the vial invitingly. “Come on,” he urged, “you know you want it, Sam. Just reach it and take it.”

Entranced by the proffered liquid, Sam failed to notice Reggie creeping up to him from the left. In another moment they were grappling and Tim moved forward to force the blood down the Winchester boy’s mouth.

Great, Dumb and Dumber were distracted. I yanked on the cuffs again. No go. Next, I looked about (out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam spitting crimson liquid into Tim’s face). Bottled, cups, and toothpicks. Nothing remotely helpful.

My lockpicks were in my boot. I swung my foot up and used my teeth to undo the laces. Thank you, mom, for insisting I keep up with the gymnastics. As I worked I could hear fists smacking flesh. I wasn’t quite sure who I was rooting for at this point. I just hoped they were too preoccupied to see what I was doing… and… success! I pounded my loosened heel on the countertop to drop the kit near my hands. A few seconds later I was free.

When I looked up I saw Sam beating the ever living hell out of Tim. Good… except Reggie was sneaking up behind him with that stupid knife. I grabbed the nearest mug and hurled it as hard as I could. It hit him right in the face. Even better, his blade dropped to the floor and Sam snatched it up. He held it to Tim’s neck while Reggie spit out a few teeth.

The Winchester boy then looked at _me_. I don’t know what was on my face, but it made his expression crumple from fury to resignation. He shoved Tim at Reggie. “Go.”

Tim rubbed his own neck. “Don’t think we won’t be back.”

“Don’t think I won’t be here.”

The Douchebag Duo left and left me alone with Sam. He approached and reached out at the bruise on my face. “Are you—“

I slapped the hand away. “Don’t!” Touching me without permission was a good way to develop a fatal case of steel-in-the-gut.

Sam backed away. “Sorry. Let me at least get you some ice.”

I didn’t object; my cheek was throbbing. Sam was lifting the gate to get behind the bar when I heard the engine of Steve’s van rev several times. There was no way that thing would survive being rammed into the bar wall so I couldn’t begin to fathom what he was planning. Didn’t have to wait long; a few seconds later a horrible series of crunching and grating noises filtered in.

My blood ran cold. They _couldn’t_ have. “Oh, shit,” I gasped and ran through the exit.

Yep. Those dickheads had run over my motorcycle. My poor bike was smashed all to hell, parts strewn in a curve all over the parking lot. Luckily the saddlebag that had ended up scraping along the concrete was the one with my personal effects and _not_ the one with my weaponry. They’d even done the courtesy of tossing my sword and its sheathe out of the camper. Both were lying sadly on the asphalt several feet away.

Sam came out holding a clean rag full of ice as I was silently fuming. The idiot made the mistake of putting a hand on my shoulder while my back was turned and I automatically spun around to plant a fist in his stomach. He let out a _whoof_ and stumbled back a few paces. “Oops,” I said.

“Ow!”

I didn’t apologize; he should have known better. Instead I knelt down and got busy unclipping my surviving saddlebag from the wreck that had been my Yamaha. The other one was completely shredded. I pulled it out from under the ruined bike anyways to see if anything had survived. Nope. I discovered my spare clothing had been inadvertently reconstituted as workshop rags with the exception of a single pair of underwear. In an additional insult to injury my toiletries had squelched out and had soaked pretty much everything.

Wonderful. My current shirt and jeans were filthy with blood and sweat and I was in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma without a ride. I sat down with my rescued panties hanging pathetically from my fingers and sighed. “Great. Just fucking great.”

“Listen,” Sam said as he put the ice pack on my cheek. I flinched, but gratefully held the cold thing to my face. “Why don’t you at least spend the night at my place? In the morning I can take you wherever you want to go.” I peered up at him suspiciously. “Just a peace offering,” he claimed.

Seeing that there was a dearth of options I told him, “Fine.” I stood and walked over to my sword with a scrap of what had been a really comfortable shirt. As I headed back I wiped off the dirt and blood. “No funny business,” I warned him as I pointed the tip at his chest.

Sam eyed it warily. “You got it.”

* * *

As the shower warmed up I took stock of my remaining belongings. Bow (no arrows; all snapped), sword, wallet, iPhone, compass. Rollup pouch of various blades. Couple of tampons (which, then and now, made Sam deeply uncomfortable), makeup bag that was miraculously untouched, and the (lonely) underwear.

Sam put a shirt, flannel, and a pair of basketball shorts next to my bag. “Just for now,” he said. “I’ll throw what you’re wearing in the wash.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed what I needed and headed into the now delightfully steamy bathroom.

After passing my clothing out to Sam I used his soap and shampoo. No wonder the man had such a fluffy coif; the stuff he used was really nice. Now clean, my long, black hair wrapped snugly in a towel, I catalogued bruises and cuts. Nothing major. Worst was the mark on the side of my face, the one out there by a _human_ dickwad.

I unfolded Sam’s shirt and snorted. The thing was a tent. I don’t know what he was thinking; he had almost a foot in height on me. Better than nothing. It was comfy and warm and with the flannel everything would be covered. There was no fitting the shorts, however, no matter how tight I made the drawstring. Oh well.

Sam returned while I was packing up the remains of my meager possessions. He still had my clothes in his hands. “Someone’s using the washer. Don’t worry, I’ll get to it.”

“Thanks.” I looked around the motel room. There was only one, albeit king-sized, bed and no couch.

He saw what I was doing and declared, “I’ll take the floor.”

I rolled my eyes. “That bed is huge, dumbass. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

“Are you sure? Because—“

“Look, you’re cute, and normally I’d be seeing if you were interested in a good fuck.” Sam flushed. Aw, how precious. Wish I could still picture him that way; what happened between us several months later pretty much scrapped any concepts I had about his innocence. “But I just got knocked in the head several times, not to mention nearly torn to pieces by a bunch of black-eyed assholes. I want to sleep _comfortably_. And after those guys knocked _you_ around? I bet you do too.”

“Someone also punched me in the stomach,” he said wryly.

I made a disparaging noise before lifting a corner of the covers and climbing into bed. “Good night, Sam.”

“Yeah. Good night, Eva.”

* * *

I was woken up a few hours later when Sam’s lips found my neck. My eyes snapped open and I flipped around. Initially, I was prepared to smack him, but he was staring at me with such affection that I was taken aback. “I love you, Jess,” he murmured.

God, if only I’d known then what this little hallucination of his was heralding I’d have walked out that damn door the second I woke up. I merely thought Sam Winchester was in the grips of some really intense dream. It was either that or I’d taken charity from a delirious nutcase.

Nonplussed, I watched as he turned around and sat at the edge of the bed. “God knows how much I miss you, too,” Sam said sadly. “But you’re wrong. People _can_ change. There _is_ reason for hope.”

“What a crock of shit,” I replied bitterly.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

I hesitated. I mean, undoubtedly he was talking to Harvey the Rabbit, but I barely knew the man. It wasn’t really the right time and place to expound on the fallacies of the human race. It was taken out of my hands, however, when Sam jerked around and looked at me in horror. My eyebrows shot up as he stood up and stumbled backwards. “ _Lucifer_.”

A chill ran down my spine. I’m in no way religious, especially after everything I’ve seen and been through, but my parents had been devout Christians. I also didn’t have my head in the sand; I knew the Apocalypse that was looming was the _biblical_ Apocalypse, atheists be damned. Sam Winchester had claimed he was responsible. Maybe the guilt had addled his brain. “What do you want with me?” he demanded. “I don’t want _anything_ from you.”

I glanced around and found my saddlebags set neatly at a table near the window at the opposite side of the room. Damnit, I wanted a knife, but I didn’t know how he’d react if I moved. When I turned back, Sam’s expression had gone from horrified to baffled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Sam stood and took a few steps back, his gaze pointed at some vague spot on the wall. I guess Satan had gotten to his feet. “No,” he snarled. “No. That’ll _never_ happen.” A short pause. “You need my consent.” And another. “I will _kill myself_ before letting you in.” I really wished I could hear the other half of this bizarre conversation. “You’re wrong.” More silence. “Why me?” His head fell.

When Sam finally raised his head it was to search about as if whomever (or whatever) he’d been talking to had vanished. Much to my consternation those hazel orbs were filled with tears. “Sam?” I ventured.

He jumped. “E-Eva?”

I went for directness. “What the hell is going on?”

“Uh, um, nothing.” Sam turned away.

“Sam,” I snapped. He still didn’t look at me. “You woke me up by _kissing me_. Then you called me _Lucifer_.”

That got his attention. He whirled back around. “How much did you hear?”

“Everything _you_ said. So again: what the hell is going on?”

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

All right, enough of Mystery Man and his enigmatic phantasms. “Fuck this, I’m out.” I stood up and whipped off the borrowed flannel. But when I pulled the shirt over my head, fully intending on throwing both things back at their owner, getting dressed, and hitching a ride, his shocked gasp was hard to miss. It wasn’t my sudden nudity; I’d bet Sam Winchester had been treated to much better sights. I’d been so rudely awakened and treated to such a queer spectacle that I’d forgotten I was in his bed as a guest and not a lover, and it meant that I hadn’t warned him about my scars.

They crisscross my back in an irregular pattern. I remember how each of them had been inflicted. This one, here, across my shoulder blades, was from a bullwhip. That one, right under my ribs, was one of a dozen made by a razors he’d kept in a velvet-lined case, blades too small to kill but just right for inflicting pain. The one closest to my nape? His teeth.

After Bobby rescued me, it took months of rehabilitation to get me back on my feet, but once they were healed I’d traveled to Japan. With Bobby’s directions (the man is, quite surprisingly, fluent in Japanese) I’d found a tattoo artist who was also familiar with the supernatural. After two exquisitely torturous days under the needle I had an _irezumi_ , a traditional Japanese tattoo, of a sinuous black dragon curled over my back and buttocks. An anti-possession mark was hidden in its coils along with thirteen Shinto wards meant to ward off evil. It covered nearly all my scars, but in certain lights you could make out every ridge and gouge.

Sam obviously knew he wasn’t looking at the expected inevitable repercussions of living as a hunter. Those would have been scattered, maybe a few on my arms, my legs, my torso. _These_ were concentrated on my back. They’d been artistically inflicted by a sadist, one with centuries of experience. Of course, there was no way he could have known _then_ who and why but his silence spoke volumes.

I slowly put the flannel back over my shoulders. “I’m not telling you,” I said quietly, still not facing the man, “so don’t ask.”

“I didn’t,” he said gently. “I won’t.”

It was refreshing, and jarring, to meet someone who didn’t pry. Some men wanted salacious details, thinking it might be from a background of rough S&M. Others played the macho card and wanted to know who and whether or not the perpetrator had been punished. Both disgusted me, which is why I normally told some outrageous lie (sorority hazing, Halloween makeup gone wrong, a really aggressive dog), then rode ‘em and tossed ‘em in the same night.

Whether Sam would backtrack to appease his curiosity wasn’t a given. Then again, after what I’d seen I was certain he had his own secrets that he didn’t want unearthed. I buttoned up and made a quick decision. “Look. I need a ride to Bobby Singer’s. He obviously knows you so I’m assuming you know him. He hooked me up with my last bike for dirt cheap and I’m pretty damn sure he‘ll do it again. If you’re not going to help me then I need to get moving.”

“No, I’ll take you.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I was planning on leaving town anyhow.”

“Is this… talking to Lucifer thing a nightly occurrence? Should I be prepared?” I had to ask.

Sam chuckled a little, much to my surprise. “No. I’m pretty sure this was a one time thing.”

“Fantastic. Can I get back to sleep now?”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

I tucked myself back into bed. Sam, however, grabbed his jacket. “Where you going?” I asked sleepily.

He gave me a small, sad smile. It made me want to cuddle him. I swear he must practice those puppy eyes. “I’ll be back. Just going for a walk.” I made an agreeable noise as he shut the door.

Man, I’d lucked out. Nearly killed by demons, knocked senseless by a complete asshole, and had my ride and belongings completely fucked over. But surprise, surprise! I scored a free ticket to Bobby’s and a handsome companion to get me there. Afterwards, Sam could go his way, I could go mine. No way I wanted to get into whatever issues the Winchester boy was having, _especially_ since he seemed to be directly involved with the Apocalypse.

I wish time travel was more accessible. Stupid, naive past-me really needed a whack upside the head.

* * *

We left as early as possible the next day. Sam paid the reckoning for our room and we loaded up his car, a rust yellow Lincoln Continental with ripped seats and a faint smell of cigarettes. I sat in the passenger’s side and popped open the dash. “George Freedman,” I read off the registration.

Sam turned the engine over. “You really wanna know?”

I tossed the slip of paper over my shoulder. “Nope.”

It was going to take us about a day to get to Sioux Falls (barring traffic) including some overnight driving. I offered to take the middle stretch and he agreed.

Both of us, by unspoken mutual agreement, made no small talk. We were both content to be lost in our own thoughts, the shifting radio serving as a backdrop. It started on a modern pop station, but somewhere between states it morphed into classic rock. I caught Sam mouthing the words for a few minutes before he grimaced and tuned it to country.

“No love for Zepplin?” I asked.

“Nah.”

We did a drive thru for lunch but decided to stop at a sit-down place for dinner, some out of the way diner in Missouri. I ordered a Cobb and a water, he did the same. While we waited I hummed a little, not seeing the need to start a conversation. “That’s a pretty tune,” Sam said, killing my attempt to keep myself distant.

“Piece,” I corrected.

“Okay, ‘piece’. What is it?”

“Chopin’s Prelude in E minor.”

“You play the piano?”

“Played.” It wasn’t as if I could cart an upright around while I hunted.

“Ah.” I resumed humming. Sam, unfortunately, didn’t seem to like awkward silences. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He could ask, but it wasn’t like I was obligated to answer.

“What made you start hunting?”

I shrugged. “Thing killed my family. Went looking for it. The end.”

“That’s… vague.”

No shit, Sherlock. I figured Sam was used to people opening up to him almost right away. He flashes those empathetic eyes at them and they cave. Not me. “So why are _you_ a hunter?”

“Pretty much the same reason.” Our salads arrived and we dug in. “How long ago?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Does that matter?” I asked before popping a cherry tomato in my mouth.

“I guess not. It’s just… you seem pretty skilled. No one gets that good right away.”

“It’s been… several years. You?”

“Almost all my life.”

Wait. “What do you mean ‘almost’? Not including the obvious time you were in diapers.”

Sam poked morosely at some lettuce. “I, um… I went to college for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Stanford.”

I gave a derisive snort. “ _Stanford_.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve got to be the first person I’ve told that isn’t amazed I went there.”

No lack of ego there. “That’s because I went to Berkeley.”

Sam startled me with a bark of genuinely surprised laughter. The rivalry between our two universities was notorious. “You sure you won’t stab me in my sleep?”

“Bears are _inherently_ better than trees, chump,” I declared, referring to our respective mascots.

Sam continued chuckling as he ate. I speared a slice of hard boiled egg and tried to choke it down. Remembering college inevitably recalled the phone call I’d gotten from the SFPD that cloudy Thursday afternoon, taking the BART into the city while numb with shock, seeing the blood liberally splattered over the walls of the place that had once been my childhood home…

I gave up trying to eat and put my fork aside. After a minute or so Sam did the same. It looked like the path of our conversation had killed both our appetites. I wondered if he’d left Stanford for the same reason I’d left Berkeley. However, I didn’t want to pry and only ruminated about how much tuition money Sam had thrown down the drain.

We choked down a few more bites before asking for the check and getting back on the road. Sam had driven until lunch, I’d been driving since then. We switched about three hours in and I curled up in the back to get some sleep.

Sam woke me up _again_. I figured if I ever wanted to get a full night’s sleep again it had to be without him anywhere in the vicinity. At least this time there was no unintentional molestation; now he was just talking on the phone. I got the impression that he might have begun the conversation quietly for my sake, but the topic was distracting (not to mention agonizing) enough that courtesy had been forgotten. ”He said _I’m_ the one that’s supposed to be letting him ride around in my skin.”

At least this time I could hear the other person. “So, you’re his vessel, huh?” they said. Damn, that was one deep voice. I pictured someone taller than Sam with the build of a lumberjack. Beard, belly, plaid, the works. “Lucifer’s wearing you to the prom?”

“That’s what he said.”

Well, shit. I’d heard about the whole angelic possession thing. A hunter who wanted to survive kept up with new supernatural developments. We all knew that angels were walking the Earth for the first time in thousands of years. They were supposedly powerful, invulnerable, and could freaking _teleport_. Rumor mill also had it that while demons took unwilling meatsuits, Heaven’s ambassadors needed permission before getting a ride. Therefore Lucifer, who, if I remember correctly, was an archangel, needed _Sam’s_ permission to ride his ass through Armageddon.

I‘d fooled myself into thinking that maybe he’d been playing along in order to get the Douchebag Trio—sorry, Duo—off our backs and that maybe last night’s conversation had been the product of some personal issues he was having. Apparently I was an idiot. I’d been watching Lucifer court his fucking vessel and hadn’t had the foresight to do something about it. Well, it looked like I’d been given a second chance.

Quietly and slowly I reached down and unsheathed my sword. “Dean, don’t do this,” Sam was pleading. A farewell sounded from the other end and he slowly dropped his phone.

I didn’t want to startle him _too_ much; he was driving, after all, and I didn’t want to end up splattered on the side of the road. Instead, I slid my weapon over Sam’s neck with just enough slowdown so he could acknowledge what was happening. “Pull over,” I said softly.

The car drifted to the embankment. “Eva—“

“Shut the fuck up. If I slit your throat would it all be done?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I felt Sam’s throat bob my blade up and down. “Lucifer told me he’d just bring me back.”

It was very likely he telling the truth. There was too much despair in his voice for it to be a ruse. “And the other guy?”

“My brother.“

If there was anything I could empathize with it was sibling estrangement. Still, I might be able to save a lot of lives by killing him. Or maybe he’d just get resurrected and my altruism would bring the literal wrath of Hell down on my head. Just… there was a chance I could derail the Apocalypse right here, right now. Or I might doom myself into having a revengeful lumberjack on my ass for the rest of my life.

I vacillated between the two possibilities for a bit too long. With a speed belied by his size Sam‘s left arm shot over to grasp the back of my shirt. He yanked me into the front seat and I let out a really undignified squeal. I threw my arms up to prevent my head from slamming into the dash as my blade flew to his feet.

After struggling a bit in the small space I ended up in a one-armed chokehold with my boot heels pressed against the passenger side window. Sam’s left arm was wrapped around my body for additional restraint. Frustrated, I kicked the door and the glass several times before letting myself go slack. “You done?” Sam asked irritably.

“Yes.” Even to _myself_ I sounded like a big, pouty baby.

He let me go and moved his tree trunk of a leg so I couldn’t retrieve my sword. “Can we get going now?”

I answered him by slapping him silly. “That’s for starting the Apocalypse.” I slapped him again. “And _that’s_ for Lucifer.”

Sam palmed his cheek, his eyes wide with outrage. “He’s not in me right now!”

“I know,” I said calmly as I settled down in my seat. “Just make sure he gets it.” After buckling my seatbelt I asked, as sweetly as possible, “Can I have my sword back?”

Sam grimaced. He used his heel to slide my _samjeongdo_ under his seat. “No.”

“Asshole.”

* * *

When I woke up again it was just after dawn. Sam’s jacket was draped over my shoulders. Nice of him; it wasn’t exactly warm this time of year. Then I saw that we were stopped under a bridge and was pissed; if we were still driving in the right direction and at the same speed we _should_ have been in Sioux Falls. _This_ was definitely _not_ Singer Salvage Yard and that guy that Sam was talking to was _not_ Bobby Singer.

The stranger was slightly shorter than Sam (which still gave him half a foot over me) with a military cut and what were astonishingly handsome features. Man had a chiseled jawline and everything, and the five o’clock shadow only enhanced the package. The way Sam was looking at him, with a mixture of hopefulness and guilt, cemented the fact that this male model wannabe was his brother, Dean. No beard and belly. At least I’d gotten the plaid right.

I watched Dean hand Sam some kind of knife. The former gave the latter what looked like an ultimatum. They came to an agreement, Sam started looking relieved and grateful, and the conversation was over. Time to meet the pretty boy.

I opened the car door and got both of their attentions immediately. I will never forget how Dean’s face went ashen at the sight of me. This was the first time we’d met; there was no reason for him to be looking at me like I was some kind of ghost.

I walked over and stopped near Sam, still meeting Dean’s horrified expression with my own perturbed one. Stupid genetics. These two made me feel like a midget. “What?” I snapped.

“You,” Dean said breathlessly. “I _saw_ you.”

“Stalker much?”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked his brother.

“Future me, man,” Dean said breathlessly. “I caught him lookin’ at this picture of us… them… whatever! Kept it in his pocket like some kind of fricking treasure.”

Sam was as confused as I was, but apparently it was for a different reason. Instead of, “Are you crazy or something?” (which I felt any normal person would have asked) he simply wondered, “Why?”

“Because he said she was someone he’d loved. And at some point…” Dean swallowed apprehensively and looked over at me. His next words would forever leave a black stain our relationship. “At some point _she died in his arms_.”

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes “Free to Be You and Me” (SPN 5.03) and “The End” (SPN 5.04).


	3. 3

* * *

I would find out much, much later, what all this future-talk meant, but at that point I was overtaken by overwhelming panic. Romance and love? Big fat red flags in my book. It’s how I was lured before and I swore to myself that I’d never let it happen again.

I took a step back from the brothers. “Stay away from me.”

“Eva, wait—“ Sam started to say.

I began moving faster towards the Continental. “Both of you just stay the _hell_ away from me!”

I’d automatically locked the door when I’d gotten out, and since my brain had gone stupid all I ended up doing was yank uselessly at the handle. Someone put their hand on my arm and I instinctively swiveled around and punched its owner in the face.

Dean Winchester staggered back a few steps and palmed his cheek. He whipped his gaze over to his brother. “Where the fuck did you pick _her_ up?”

“Oklahoma.” I could swear Sam was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, well, Busty Asian Beauty she ain’t.”

Oh. That tore it. I _hate_ that magazine. My body was closer to Lucy Liu, the A-list actress, than Lucy Lee, the C-cup porn star, and I was tired of hunters trying to compare my more toned, small-breasted form to those squishy, silicone-enhanced inaccuracies. Time to take a stand.

I walked up to Dean and stabbed him in the chest with my finger. “You listen to me, you dim-witted, inbred _hick_. I don’t know what pool of _stupid_ you crawled out of but I’m not some starry-eyed slut that’s going to fall into your arms just because you went and made up some sci-fi fairy tale!”

“It ain’t a fairy tale!” Dean shouted down at me.

“You expect me to believe that someone flew you into the future where not only am I _dead_ , but I’d had some kind of relationship with your pretty-boy ass?”

“ _Yes_.”

The conviction with which he said that single word took me by surprise. Either Sam’s brother was a complete lunatic or… well, we’re hunters. Weird and unusual is part of the gig. But time travel? That was stretching it. “Prove it.”

I’d apparently stunned the man. “Uh…”

“Something like this happened before,” Sam offered. “Angels have the power to transport people through time.”

“You expect me to believe that? On your word alone?” I threw my hands in the air. “You’re both crazy! Why the hell did I let you drive me all this way after that shit last night? For all I know you two are psycho killer rapists!”

For some reason Dean took a good deal of umbrage against what I’d accused him of. “We ain’t psycho… killer… what you said!”

“Eva,” Sam said gently, “what’s wrong?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“What’s she talkin’ about, ‘last night’?” Dean asked his brother. “Did you two…?”

Both Sam and I vehemently cried, “No!” “Look,” Sam said to me, “we can still get you to Bobby’s. It’s maybe two hours out. After that, you don’t have to see us ever again.”

His sentiments were wrong, but there was no way he could have known what was to come. Our lives would eventually become so intertwined it would be impossible to separate one from the other without creating tremendous, vacuous spaces. Regardless, I warily accepted the offer of transportation. “Long as we’re going straight there.”

Dean was giving his brother the stink-eye. Sam, thankfully, was unrelenting. “Dean, I promised.”

“Fine,” grumbled the pretty-boy. “Get in the back, Xhang Xiyi.”

I put him on the receiving end of one of my finest glares. “I’m not from China, I’m from San Francisco. And I’m _Korean_ , asshole.”

He threw up his hands in surrender and backed away. “Sorry.”

By the way, Dean still can’t tell the difference. It’s all tits and exoticism to him.

* * *

After Sam and I got our things we headed out. The tension in the car was thick; not only were the brothers still dealing with the issues had separated them, Dean was pointedly ignoring me. I had the feeling that he was embarrassed over his proclamation and was now pretending he’d never said it.

We arrived at Bobby’s around noon. I escaped the car as soon as it had rolled to a stop, not bothering to wait for Dean to kill the engine. “Hey!” he barked out the window.

“Fuck off,” I said loudly as I tore open the screen door and headed inside.

I expected to be able to throw myself into Bobby’s arms and give him a tremendously big hug. It had been several months since I’d been able to visit and I was very fond of him. He was sitting behind his desk when I walked in the study and _rolled out_ to greet me. Bobby Singer was wheelchair-bound and I had no idea when or how. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, Dean yanked me out of the room, nearly tearing my arm from its socket in the process. He shoved me up against the hallway wall and pressed one of his forearms against my neck. “Don’t you know not to go barging into people’s houses like that?”

“Let me go. _Now_.”

“I’d take heed, son,” Bobby said. He sounded way too amused by the situation.

“You know her?” Dean asked incredulously.

Bobby didn’t bother answering. Instead, his eyes flicked downwards. When Dean complied with the silent request he found one of the small daggers I kept up my sleeves pointed directly at the V of his jeans. He grimaced at me. “Now that’s just rude.”

“Me and Eva go back a ways,” Bobby answered. “No need to get your undies in a bunch.”

Reluctantly, Dean backed away. “How?”

“None of your business,” I snapped at him. In a far more sympathetic tone, I repeated my query to Bobby. “What happened?”

“Demon,” he replied succinctly as Sam came in bearing my saddlebags. “Guess that thing down in Oklahoma didn’t go so well.”

“Steve’s dead,” Sam said quietly. “The others got away.”

“Still don’t explain why Eva didn’t come here on her own wheels.”

“Because those fuckers ran over my bike!” I exclaimed.

“On purpose?”

“ _On purpose_.”

“Dickhead move. What did you do?”

Yeah, okay, he was right to assume it was my fault; Bobby knew my mouth tended to run faster than my brain. Except this time I had the upper hand. “Tim-fucking-Janklow sucker-punched me and then used me as bait!”

“Bait for what?”

“Me,” Sam replied. “They… Um…”

“No need, son. I get it.” The gentleness in Bobby’s tone was new to me. I’d never seen him act so paternal to anyone other than me before. Most of his relationships with other hunters were purely professional, Rufus Turner being the exception. I suppose you could call Bobby and Rufus frenemies, if you were being generous. Cantankerous old grumps with grudges would be more accurate.

The Winchesters, seeing that their duty to me was done, prepared to leave. They gave their farewells to Bobby and headed back to their car. I followed them to the porch. “Sam.”

“Yeah?”

”Thanks.”

He gave me a smile. God, the man did and still does have the _cutest_ little dimples. “You’re welcome.”

“Say,” Dean inserted, “how _do_ you know Bobby?”

I’d already told him to mind his business, but seeing the way Bobby acted around these two made me trust them a minuscule amount more. “He saved my life.”

“He does that a lot,” Sam said as he opened the passenger’s side door. “Well, good luck with everything, Eva.”

“See ya,” was Dean’s farewell. I waved, their engine turned over, and they were gone.

I headed back inside. “I don’t got a new bike for you, darling,” Bobby said. “But if you hang about I’m sure one’ll turn up. Unless you think you might head on home?”

Home? I didn’t have a home, not really. I had a place of origin, certainly, but San Francisco wasn’t _home_ anymore. The old, narrow house that I grew up in was sold, its blood-spattered walls covered with thick beige paint. I wonder if the new owners know about the history of horrors their million dollars granted them. “Can I stay upstairs?” I asked. “I won’t get in your way.”

“Back in the old bedroom? Sure. You know, there’s parts and frames all around the yard. Maybe you could cobble something together.”

Put together some Frankenstein’s monster of a motorcycle? “Think I’ll just wait.”

“Suit yourself. Room and board’s same price as always.”

“Home cooked dinners and the occasional supply run. Got it.”

Bobby smiled. “Glad to have you back, Eva.”

* * *

We’d had this arrangement, at this point, for about five years. I’d get melancholy and need company, he’d get sick of canned chili, and the two of us would be housemates up until one of us needed to get on the road. Unfortunately, with Bobby’s debilitating condition the only one of us able to indulge in extracurricular activities was me, and he wasn’t shy about showing how dejected he was about it. The man found relief by plugging himself into a bottle of whiskey. Hauling up a dead weight, middle-aged, belligerent alcoholic off the floor is about as easy and delightful as it sounds.

He left at one point because of what he said was a witch. I was a little worried about the gleam in his eye, but I knew better than to pry. When Bobby got back, I was surprised to see that his spirits had risen. The older hunter merely said that he’d had a change in perspective.

A Triton motorcycle from the sixties came in shortly after the witch incident and finally answered my prayers. Some idiot had seen the handlebars and the seat as prime parts and had left the engine intact. It was going to take a bit of work, but that baby was going to be mine.

Several weeks after meeting the weirdo Winchesters I was done fixing up the Triton. The day before I’d done a test run and she moved like a _dream_. I was wiping the last bits of dirt and oil off it when Bobby rolled in. He gave an appreciative whistle. “That is one mighty fine lookin’ bike.”

I gave him a grin. “No backsies. She’s mine.”

“Promise is a promise.” He scratched under his hat a bit, a sure sign that whatever he had on his mind was something that made him uncomfortable. “Look, I got company coming and I don’t think you wanna be here.”

I grabbed a rag and began cleaning my hands. “What, embarrassed that some Asian chick is now King of the Scrapyard?”

He snorted derisively. “You need a couple more decades of tinkering around here before I give up that title.”

“Then what?”

“It’s Sam and Dean. They’ll be here tonight.”

Ick. “You’re right. I better get going.” I sniffed under an armpit. “Do I have time to get cleaned up?”

“Maybe. Depends on whether or not Dean or Sam is driving.”

“Better hurry then,” I said as I started jogging towards the house.

I’d showered and dressed and was putting the last of my things into my saddlebags (of course I’d gotten them replaced) when I heard a car pull up. I looked out of the window and spotted a truck. The woman getting out was around Bobby’s age: Ellen Harvelle. She strode right in and I could vaguely hear her and Bobby greet one another.

I knew the woman from when she’d managed the Roadhouse, a great bar where hunters had gathered to swap info and stories. I used to swing by whenever I was near; it was nice to talk to a woman that didn’t treat me like either a rival hunter or a stupid little girl that didn’t belong. Her daughter, Jo, and I were on friendly terms through mutual association; we both liked her mother. The place had been demolished by a demon, so I was told, and I was happy to see Ellen alive and well.

When I came down the stairs, bags in hand, I saw Bobby and Ellen in the kitchen talking quietly. I didn’t want to interrupt; I’d been brought up to respect my elders’ privacy. That all went to hell when a low, gravelly voice said from behind me, “Who are you?”

I immediately stepped forward and swung my saddlebags around to clobber whoever it was. My belongings smacked into the man’s head before bursting from their confines and scattering everywhere. Apparently I hadn’t closed them as tightly as I thought. Much to my irritation, the stranger didn’t even flinch. I drew a fist back but was arrested by Ellen shouting, “Whoa whoa whoa!” as she came rushing over.

“Cass, you idjit!” Bobby snapped as he followed her.

I let my hand drop and peered at the newcomer. He was almost the same height as Bobby, a healthy six feet, with tousled dark hair and a set of _ancient_ blue eyes. No standard hunter gear (jeans, shirt, flannel, boots); this guy had a trenchcoat, suit, tie, and even dress shoes. It was like being stared at by a weirdly intense accountant. A handsome accountant. Which made him even _more_ weird.

“Who is this?” the man asked, this time directed at Bobby.

“Evangeline!” Ellen cried warmly. She knew I didn’t like being hugged and settled for patting my cheeks. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah, more than a year at least. I gave her a smile. “I missed you, too. Where’s Jo?”

“Oh, she’ll be along soon. Out with those Winchester boys retrieving the Colt.” I couldn’t tell whether the woman was proud or anxious that her daughter was out with those two freaks.

Hold up. “Wait, the Colt?” I asked, astonished. “ _The_ Colt?” Everyone knew about the magical gun wrought to kill everything.

“One and only. Were you heading out? It’d be a shame if you two missed each other.”

“‘Evangeline’,” said the stranger in a thoughtful tone. “‘Bringer of good news’.”

I lifted an eyebrow without looking at him. “Someone want to tell me who special ed over here is?”

“That there’s Castiel,” Ellen replied. “He’s an angel. It’s why he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of what you’d call ‘social graces’.”

“I’m working on it,” the angel said testily.

“Well, keep at it,” I snapped. “Learn that it’s not nice to sneak up on a girl.”

So it wasn’t love at first sight. That’s for fairy tales and silly romantic movies. In fact, it wasn’t even _like_ at first sight. All I came away with from this encounter was the impression that he was just another big dumb idiot. It would take months, years even, for Castiel to make a dent in that thick steel wall I’d built around my heart, but when he did…

“All right, all right,” Bobby scolded, “stop trying to piss him off. Didn’t you wanna head out before Sam’n’Dean get here? Any minute now they’re gonna be drivin’ up.”

Oh shit. I immediately knelt down and started shoving things back into my saddlebags. The so-called angel stepped out of the way and Ellen joined me. I was still scrabbling for wayward arrows when the sound of an approaching engine came rumbling through Bobby’s screen door. “Sweetie,” Ellen whispered as she handed me a shirt, “you wanna tell me why you’re running from the Winchesters?”

“No time,” I answered as I zipped and buckled up. I hurried to the front door and swung it open… only to smack face first into someone’s chest.

“The hell…?” said its owner, one Dean Winchester.

I shoved passed him, nearly knocking Sam and Jo down on the way, and walked as fast I could towards the shed and my bike.

Of course, the dickhead followed me. “Eva!”

I turned around after getting my bags attached. “What?” I snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For freaking you out last time! I shouldn’t have told you… you know…”

“What?” My lip curled into a sneer. “That we were _destined_ to be? That you’re apparently going to be there holding me when I _die_?” I walked over to the workbench and snatched up my helmet.

Dean grabbed it out of my hands as soon as I got close enough. “Listen, we don’t know the first thing about each other—“

“You’re goddamn right.”

“—And so far the only things I know about you are that you’re hot and you’re freaking insane!”

I breezed by the first thing he said and latched onto the second. “ _I’m_ insane?”

The man gave an exasperated sigh and plunked my helmet onto the back of the Triton. “Look, we’re heading out tomorrow to take on Lucifer. Could use another hand.”

I paused. This was important. Fighting ghouls and vampires wouldn’t mean anything if Satan roasted the planet. I could be part of something big, something vital. It _could_ be that my presence could mean the difference between someone living and someone dying.

There were, however, two big issues with Dean’s request, both of them having to do with him. For one, going up against Lucifer was suicide at best, and with Dean in attendance I had no intention of prophetically fulfilling my demise. For the other, there was no way I was going to dive into that handsome, green-eyed trap. Going into a life and death situation with the man would leave too many openings for him to show me that he was worth falling for. “No,” I said as I swung one leg over onto my bike.

Dean looked at me in disbelief, like I’d told him I hated kittens or something. “No?”

“No,” I repeated as I squished my head into my helmet. The engine purred when I turned the key and I revved the handle a few times to get Dean out of the way. He stepped back and I nearly broke the sound barrier getting away from him.

* * *

I didn’t see the Winchesters again for several months after that, thankfully. The world didn’t end but the Apocalypse kept on rolling, which meant that they’d probably failed at stopping Lucifer. When I called Bobby about it a week later he broke the news that the Harvelles had died and confirmed my suspicions about the Winchesters’ defeat.

So much time and so many hunts passed that I figured I was done with those two idiots and put thoughts of them aside. In the weeks before it all went to shit there was a werewolf in Utah and a djinn in Vegas (selling “dreams come true” of all things). Afterwards I’d headed to San Francisco and checked on my sister (still whoring it up on Geary), solved a haunting at Ghiradelli Square while I was there, drove up to Idaho for a pair of ghouls, swung all the way over to North Dakota for a nest of vamps (I _loathe_ those assholes), and ended up in Blue Earth, Minnesota after hearing about a demon infestation.

What’s the saying? Hindsight is 20/20. If I had known how bad it was going to get I would have turned the fuck around.

* * *

Blue Earth had been taken over by the church. It’s inevitable that when you deal with Heaven and Hell you get tangled up with religious nuts. This wasn’t the first town like this I’d encountered and it wouldn’t be the last. The difference this time was that I’d ridden willingly in and now I wasn’t allowed out.

The inability to go was more due to the abnormal amount of demons surrounding the perimeter than anything else. Anyone that tried to go by freeway ended up running into a blockade. Anyone trying to go through the woods ended up dead.

I think I could have stood the isolationism if a lot of those people didn’t start seriously freaking me the fuck out. In the past seventy-two hours I’d gotten three marriage proposals, dozens of admonishments over my cleavage (you know, the minuscule amount that I had), and several lectures about my habit of using profanities. The latter two I could ignore, the first was unnerving. Couples were marching down that aisle every day, ones I suspected hadn’t even considered the other person as a viable husband/wife prior to that morning. Unfortunately, this town had more men than women, which meant that the more I refused the more frowns were thrown my way. I slept with my blade in hand just in case someone decided to rouse me in the middle of the night for a shotgun wedding.

The bartender, Paul, was the only person I could regularly stand to be around. We’d even flirted a bit, but the watchful eye of Leah Gideon and the Sacrament Lutheran Militia kept us apart.

Speaking of which: Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, gave me the creeps. I don’t know how to describe it, but there was something about her that was just _off_. It made me want to stab her in the face.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re the Whore of Babylon masquerading as the pastor’s daughter.

The bar Paul ran was full from lunchtime to closing due to the fact that these people knew the Apocalypse was nigh. It was strange to be around non-hunters who talked about angels and demons casually, slipping them into conversations like some people do sports teams. I suppose with the actual hellspawn around the perimeter and the Prophet talking about her connection to Heaven they had a right to be casual and supercilious about the whole thing, but it didn’t make it any less odd.

Paul was pouring me another beer when _they_ walked in. I’d heard that strangers had rolled into town, demons hot on their tail, I just didn’t expect it to be the Winchesters. There wasn’t much I could do to hide (other than duck under a table), so I did what I could to keep my face pointed away from them. It _seemed_ to work. Sam waltzed right on by while dialing a number on his phone and Dean plopped down at a table almost directly behind me.

I waited to see how long the giant would stay on his call. Once he started talking to Castiel’s voicemail (I didn’t know it then, but for the crime of siding with humanity Cass had been cut off from Heaven’s energy; thus the mundane communication method) I figured that was distraction enough for me to escape. I slapped a twenty down on the bar top, swiveled my stool, and took two steps towards the exit.

“Don’t think I don’t see you there.”

Shit.

“Been a while, Eva,” Dean continued. I turned around, my lips pressed tight. He was slouched in his seat facing the opposite wall and didn’t bother changing positions.

I folded my arms and glowered at the back of his head. “Not long enough.”

“How long would that have to be?”

“I was honestly hoping for, you know, forever.”

Dean gave the peanuts a wry grin. “Yeah, well, me too.”

This was weird. At the time, I didn’t know Dean very well, but I’d gotten the impression from our two rather heated encounters that he was a little more… I don’t know, alive? The way he sat, the way he spoke, it was as if whatever spark had once lit Dean Winchester had guttered out. It was disheartening, and pitiable.

What had happened to him would have been devastating to anyone, really. Dean had basically found out God had said, in terms of the Apocalypse, “Fuck it. You’re on your own.” I’m sure there were more nuances to the message He’d left, but that was the gist. Before receiving that message, Dean had already been on a steady slide towards self immolation and God’s apathy just steepened his descent. This shitstorm at Blue Earth would get him to smash right into the bottom.

Sam slipped by me to sit down with three beers. He held one up to me and gave a small smile in greeting. I’ve never been one to turn down free alcohol. “Hey, Eva,” he said as I sat. “Came here because of the same reason, I assume.”

 _He_ was at least unchanged. I nodded. “Been here couple of days already.”

“You’ve been sticking around that long?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘sticking around’. It’s a matter of ‘I can’t fucking leave’.”

Sam glanced at his brother who, I assumed, was supposed to glance back. Instead Dean kept drinking, his eye-line somewhere around his brother’s stomach.

This had passed awkward straight into excruciatingly uncomfortable. I decided to change the subject. “Who were you calling?” I asked (even though I already knew the answer).

“Cass—uh, Castiel. The angel? He said you guys met at Bobby’s and you hit him with your stuff.”

I shrugged. “That’s what he gets for sneaking up on me.”

“He probably didn’t sneak up so much as… _appeared_ in that space.”

“Great. Do they just pop up whenever? Should I expect angels to show up in my shower at some point?” I was starting to wonder whether I could be alone and naked without fearing angelic intrusion.

Sam gave a little chuckle. “I don’t think… well…”

“The bastards are junkless,” Dean inserted. “Probably see a woman’s ass and wonder where her balls went.”

I thought back to that first encounter with Castiel. Clueless and tactless. “Well there’s one less thing to worry about.”

Sam took a swig of beer. “So any clues why the demons are circling this town in particular?”

I shook my head. “Best I could come up with was that they didn’t want the Prophet slipping through their hands.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe the angels are making these people do their dirty work.”

Both Dean and I asked, “Yeah? And?”

Sam blinked disbelievingly at us. “And they could get ripped to shreds!”

“They’ve got their stupid little exorcism chant,” I retorted. “Not to mention their phone line to Heaven. Believe me, these guys are a lot more prepared for slaughter than anyone else I’ve met.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Dean added dismissively. “These people ain’t freaking out, they’re runnin’ to the exit in an orderly fashion. I don’t know that that’s such a bad thing.”

“Who says they’re all gonna die?” Sam snapped back. “Whatever happened to us saving them?”

The church bells started ringing, cutting through whatever Dean was going to say (and also the biting remark I had in mind). I sighed and spent a few seconds chugging down the rest of my beer, a good three-quarters of the bottle. When I was done, I found both brothers goggling at me. Apparently girls in their world didn’t really _drink_. “What? Ding dongs mean Leah’s had another vision. Time for church. You two coming?”

“You know me,” Dean said with a ghost of his former spunk. “Downright pious.”

* * *

The Prophet had seen demons about five miles out all gathered nice and neat in an abandoned farmhouse. This all stank of setup and stupidity but it wasn’t like anyone was going to listen to the drunk old maid who’d rambled into town a few days ago. The only thing of any real consequence occurred when Pastor Gideon began the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

Dean was right behind me. Under his breath he muttered, “Yeah, not so much.” When I turned around, puzzled, he shifted, but didn’t acknowledge my silent query.

The raid itself went without a hitch. People running about chanting their little chant and black smoke flying out of the windows like someone had let loose really ugly balloons. It was _afterwards_ when it all went to shit.

Most of us had already left, me included. Sam and Dean had lingered and so had Dylan, the son of some locals (Rob and Jean? Jane?). Not all the demons had hightailed it as soon as the guns started going off; one had decided to hang out underneath the Winchesters’ car. It pulled the young man underneath and slit his throat before the brothers could do shit.

They came driving back, solemn as all hell, and quietly informed the others about Dylan’s fate. His mother let out a terrible wail. I flinched, not at the mangled body in their back seat, but at that unearthly, devastating sound. I’d seen a silent version under my grandparents’ lips at my parents’ wake. No one should live to bury their own child.

Funerary services were hastily put together for that very evening. Sam, Dean, and I stood at the doorway of the church as it filled. We all felt as if going inside would be an unwelcome intrusion; after all, we were the only non-residents currently in town. A young man’s death was too intimate a tragedy to barge in upon.

Eventually, Dylan’s coffin passed by. His pallbearers, none of whom acknowledged our presence, appeared to be an uncle, grandfather, and several of his friends. Mother and father came stumbling up the steps shortly afterwards. I was staring at the grim wooden box when I heard Dean attempt to give his condolences. “Ma’am, we’re just… very sorry.”

“You know,” the woman hissed through her tears, “this is _your_ fault.”

Her husband said her name quietly in admonishment (Jane! That was it), but before they could go any further, I stepped in front of Dean and snapped, “You can’t blame him for a damn _demon_. What, you think he personally stuck that thing under his car just to fuck over your son?”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Jane snarled at me. “Blasphemous, drunken _whore_.”

Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me away before I could smack the bitch. Dylan’s father took the opportunity to hustle Jane inside.

As Pastor Gideon began the service, I jerked my limb out of Dean’s grip. He frowned at me. “She just lost her son,” Dean scolded. “Let her blame whoever she wants.”

I threw my hands up and let them drop. This apathy of his was starting to grate on my nerves. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Before he could retort there was a commotion inside the church. Sam gestured us over. On the floor was Leah, seizing, her father making blandishments until the fit passed. When it did, Pastor Gideon helped his daughter sit up. “Dad,” she gasped, “it’s Dylan.”

“Just rest a minute, huh?”

“No, listen! Dylan’s coming back.”

Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, stood at the pulpit and promised paradise, including the inevitable reunion with lost loved ones… _if_ we followed the angel’s commandments. As I listened to her rattle off the list of demands my eyebrows crawled higher and higher. No gambling. No drinking. No premarital sex. In fact, no unmarried man or woman was allowed to be alone with the opposite gender without a church-sanctioned chaperone. Prayer morning, noon, and night. Curfew from nine to six.

Dylan’s parents, as well as a majority of the townsfolk, ate it up. Sam and I glanced at each other, astonished. I looked over and saw Paul staring at the girl in disbelief. Dean projected weary resignation.

The brothers split up when the congregation finally dispersed. Dean went back inside to speak to whomever while Sam started walking towards the town’s single motel. Paul had given me one of those sweet smiles of his as he’d passed. Maybe we could start following the rules tomorrow instead…?

I headed for the bar. It was nearly dark, but unlike every other night I’d been in town no one else came in. Whatever. It wasn’t curfew yet and Paul was a local. He flipped the neon “open” sign and settled behind the counter. I swung myself onto what I had privately claimed as “my” barstool and he plunked the usual down in front of me.

A few minutes into my beer and Sam walked in. He greeted us both before sitting beside me.

The boys bantered for a bit, Paul revealing the abrupt change in most of the town’s attitudes once Leah had gone Prophet. He was the only person I knew that was outspoken about the obvious fraudulence underlying everyone’s sudden piety. It’s why I liked him best.

“Not a true believer, I take it,” Paul said to Sam.

“I believe, yeah. I do.” He shrugged. “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

We scoffed at the indifference of our supposed creator. “What about you?” Sam asked me.

I was on my third beer and my guard had slipped a bit. “Parents were devout. I believe that He’s out there but I’ll be damned if I give the son of a bitch the time of day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Paul said. The three of us clinked mugs.

We continued to drink until curfew. Paul and Sam talked about demons and television and sports while I munched on nuts and irregularly provided my opinions. It was a comfortable spot, cushioned by alcohol, and we drew a modicum of relief after the trials of the past twenty-four hours.

Of course, shit wasn’t done yet. I’d been scrolling through news bits on my phone when my service abruptly died. “What the fuck?”

“What is it?” asked Sam. I showed him. He and Paul pulled out their own phones and, despite the varying carriers, found the same problem. “What the hell?”

“Great,” Paul grumbled. “And it’s ‘curfew’.”

Sam groaned and staggered to his feet. “Guess I’ll see you two tomorrow then.”

We ribbed him for a bit about being a good little cultist before he left. Paul sighed and picked up Sam’s empty mug. “You going too?”

“I dunno.” I gave him a (drunken) smile. “You want me to go?”

He returned the expression, eyes dipping down to the skin I had peeking out from the V of my shirt and back up again. “Not particularly.”

I reached over to grab his button-up and pulled him close. “Then what do you say you lock up that door, close the lights, and we see what happens?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied huskily.

* * *

Sex with Paul was what I had come to expect from these small-town guys, but in his case the alliteration was in a good sense. See, when you live in a place where nearly everybody knows everybody most people end up having no more two or three sexual partners; the variety is lacking and the gossip is damning. These guys were, unfailingly so, inexperienced, with more clumsy enthusiasm than anything else. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Paul fell into that same, sorry category, but he had the exception of being gifted in both stamina and endowment. Good God, his was a dick to remember. He was sweet about the whole thing, too, getting all shy about putting on a condom and insisting on lapping at my folds until I was good and wet. I was the one who was pushing, eager to lose myself in the exertion, the alcohol not nearly enough to dull the effects of all the messed up shit that had gone down in the past eighteen hours.

The man obliged, eventually, after he had slid himself deliciously inside of me. We were on the edge of one of the tables and I bit my lip as I gazed into his eyes, my hand gripping his shirt as my legs wrapped around his waist, before quietly requesting he get on with fucking me. Paul grinned, gave me a few experimentally harsh thrusts, before shunting that wonderful cock of his in and out of my cunt.

We were just coming down, wrapped in post-coital bliss with his head resting between my breasts, when a rock came crashing through a window. I let out a shriek and he hurriedly drew away. Paul buttoned his pants back up as he went to investigate while I shoved my bra and shirt down and went looking for my jeans. I didn’t find them before the door smashed in and a half dozen locals, spearheaded by Dylan’s parents, marched in.

My shirt was thankfully long enough to give me a shred of modesty, but it was obvious what we had been doing. Paul was still flushed and his buttons were askew while I was, well, pantsless. Jane’s lip curled up at me. “She was right!” the woman cried. “ _You’re_ the reason why the angels are angry at us! Fornicators! Unbelievers! Blasphemers!”

I could have sworn we were in Blue Earth, Colorado, and not Castle Rock, Maine. “We’re two consenting adults,” I said as calmly as possible. “What does it matter?”

“What matters is that you are keeping us from joining our son!”

Okay, that made absolutely no sense, but when Pastor Gideon came rushing in things started to click into place. “Please!” he cried. “Calm down. There’s no reason to do this! Let’s just talk it over.”

“The angels are angry, Pastor,” said one of the other women. “If we want to enter paradise we need to be rid of these people!”

“They need to leave town _now_ ,” Rob growled. “Then we can tear apart this den of debauchery and lust.”

A chorus of agreement swept through the group. Bolstered by the support, Rob lifted the bat and smashed it down on the nearest set of liquor bottles. Seeing his livelihood threatened, Paul grabbed the weapon and began grappling with his old friend. Pastor Gideon did his best to physically come between them while shouting for peace.

Jane and another local woman tried to corner me into the bar. I still hadn’t found my pants, goddamnit! “Touch me,” I warned, “and I’ll break your face.”

My bravado was swept away by apprehension when I saw Jane reach into her jacket. There was no mistaking the black object hidden within as anything other than the handle of a semiautomatic. I was contemplating ways of disarming her when a new voice asked, “Need some help, padre?”

Fuck. Dean Winchester. I risked glancing over towards the doorway and saw the poster child for Prozac assessing the situation. My underdressed state made him blink but he was otherwise concerned by the rest. Pastor Gideon took advantage of the momentary lull in violence to plead, “Just everybody cool down for a minute.”

“‘Cool down,’ hmm?” Paul repeated angrily. He turned towards Dean. “My _friends_ are trying to run me out of town. Do you think I should ‘cool down’?”

I lost track of the ensuing conversation as I had, with great relief, _finally_ caught sight of my missing jeans. I was inching towards them when I heard Paul say loudly, “This is my _home_. You want me out of here? You’ll have to drag me out.”

I snatched up my pants and held them close to my chest. Maybe I’d get ten seconds in all this chaos to shove them back on.

Or not. I was sliding my way to Paul’s side when Dean abruptly slugged Rob. The Pastor shouted, “No no no— _stop_ —“

There were two loud reports. Something punched me in the stomach.

Then nothing.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “99 Problems” (SPN 5.17).


	4. 4

The next thing I knew was pure pain. It erupted just south of my belly button, agony blossoming outwards in piercing waves for what seemed like hours. When it was finally done, I was so unprepared for the cessation of feeling that I was left stunned and bereft. The only thing my senses could register was the touch of someone’s fingertips upon my forehead. “What?”

The appendages withdrew to reveal a haggard looking angel on the other end. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” I muttered as I pushed myself up. Looked like I’d been placed on someone’s bed with the covers haphazardly rucked up to cover my still bare bottom half. I pulled the blanket to my chest. “What the hell happened?”

“Bullet,” Castiel said succinctly before practically tipping off his perch on the edge of the mattress and falling onto the couch. If I didn’t know any better I’d have thought he was drunk.

“Now that that’s done,” came Dean’s low grumble, “where the hell have you been?”

“On a bender,” the angel snapped at him.

Oh. Well, gold star to me for figuring that one out. “Did he—“ Dean cut himself off and stared, astonished, at Castiel. “Did you say ‘on a bender’?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Sam. “He’s still pretty smashed.”

“It is not of import,” said Castiel in a voice I could best describe as somewhere between a holy declaration and a drunken slur. He waved his hand haphazardly in front of his face. “We need to talk about what’s happening here.”

“It’s Leah, isn’t it?” I surmised.

“Yes. She is not a prophet.”

“Then what is she?” asked Dean.

“The Whore.”

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it; I’d had that word thrown in my face so often in the past couple of days it was funny to hear it in reference to the town’s holy woman. The noise made Castiel wince and rub his head. “Sorry.”

“She rises when Lucifer walks the earth,” said the angel, still pressing his fingers to his temples. He proceeded to recite, “‘And she shall come, bearing false prophecy’. This creature has the power to take a human’s form, read minds. Book of Revelation calls her the ‘Whore of Babylon’.”

“Well, that’s catchy,” Dean snarked.

“Real Leah was probably killed months ago,” Sam added.

“The demons?” I asked.

“Under her control,” said Castiel.

“And that weirdo chant they’ve been using?”

“It’s Enochian, angel-speak,” he explained when I gave him a puzzled look. “All fake. It actually means,” his lips turned up in amusement, “‘you breed with the mouth of a goat’.” At our nonplussed stares he added, sourly, “It’s funnier in Enochian.”

“So what’s the end game?” asked Dean.

“Her goal is to condemn as many souls to Hell as possible,” Castiel said grimly. “And it’s just beginning. She’s well on her way to dragging this whole town into the Pit.”

I suppose disguising sin in the cloth of holiness was one way of going about it. Marrying people to instigate lust and fornication, creating covetousness by denying human desires, justifying murder… two gunshots. There had been _two_. One had quite obviously hit me, but who had gotten the other one…? Oh no. “Paul!” I cried. I flipped the blankets off and started running towards the door.

Dean caught my wrist before I could get too far. “He’s dead.”

“But… but…” We’d just been fucking on a table and now he was dead? “How?”

Dean let me go. “Jane shot the both of you.”

I paused then lifted my bloodied shirt to look down at my torso. Not even so much as a bruise. It was the first, and unfortunately not the last, time I’d experienced heavenly first aid and the results were both wondrous and bewildering. In fact, I was still gaping when Sam cleared his throat. “Maybe we should go find your… um… clothes.”

Oh. No pants. I jammed my shirt down as low as I could and whipped around. All three men were studiously looking in any direction but mine. Castiel had gone so far as to wrestle himself out of his coat. He held it out while continuing to stare at the ceiling. I swiped it out of his hands. “Black and silver motorcycle,” I told Sam. “Room seven. Bags on the back.”

“Got it,” he said hastily before brushing by me and heading out the door.

I buttoned up the coat (which practically brushed the damn floor) over my inadequate coverup and sat down on the nearest bed with a sigh. Both Dean and Castiel were still staring at the bathroom door and the ceiling, respectively. “Never seen a woman’s ass before?”

“No,” muttered Castiel at the same time that Dean said, “Yours ain’t the first. Or the best.”

I ignored the insensitive dick. “Really?” I asked Castiel. “Never?”

“Uh…”

“Which means either you’ve only ever had lights-off vanilla sex or you haven’t had it at all.”

“Um…” Castiel looked helplessly up at Dean. The man shrugged and the angel’s nervous gaze went back to me.

Sam came back a moment later with my saddlebags in his hands, rescuing the angel from my probing questions regarding his sexual experience. I thanked him and hauled myself and my overly large borrowed coat into the bathroom. The boys continued conversing while I pulled out my spare jeans, underwear, boots, and a tank top. Jacket was probably lying in a puddle of blood in Paul’s bar.

My eyes teared up slightly. Fucking Jane.

After cleaning up a bit, tying my hair back, and reapplying eyeliner I rejoined the others. The three were staring at a piece of sharpened wood with either bemusement or annoyance. “What’s that?” I asked as I handed the coat back to its owner.

“A stake,” answered Castiel as he put it back on. “Made from a cypress tree in Babylon.“

“So we need to go Buffy on her ass.”

The angel cocked his head at me, confused at the reference. Dean sighed. “She means we need to perforate Leah with it. Let’s go.”

“It’s not that simple,” warned Castiel.

Dean grimaced. “Of course not.”

“The Whore can only be killed by a true Servant of Heaven.

“Servant, like…”

“Not you. Or me. Evangeline is a normal human while Sam, of course, is an abomination.” The taller Winchester looked perturbed at the description. “We’ll have to find someone else.”

“The pastor,” I said immediately. “He’s the only one around here that’s been genuinely trying to help.”

“I’ll get him.” The sound of wings flapping echoed through the room and the angel was gone.

I stared at the spot that he’d just vacated. “Did he just…?”

“Fly away?” said Sam. “Yeah.”

“So where _are_ the wings?”

“Invisible. They show, but… well, it’s hard to explain.”

I shrugged before peering up at him. “Try explaining the abomination thing then.”

“It’s… complicated.”

I pointed at him. “You’re complicated,” I said before flinging my hand in the general direction of the outdoors, “that guy is hard to explain, and Dean’s been to the future. Anyone normal in your life?”

Sam‘s lips quirked upwards. “Not that we know of.”

“Since you’re in our lives now I guess that means you’re part of the abnormal club,” Dean muttered caustically.

I folded my arms. “Wonderful.”

“Ain’t like you’re completely on the up and up. Sammy told me about that shit on your back.”

“Dean!” Sam snapped angrily.

Every single one of my scars stung for a moment. “That is none of your business.”

“You sure?” the chisel-jawed jackass wondered.

Okay, I’d had enough. I grabbed the nearest flannel and marched to the door. “I’m borrowing this.”

“Where are you going?” Sam asked worriedly.

I shoved my arms through the sleeves. It wasn’t as big as the last one so I assumed it was Dean’s. “A walk.” Before either could object to either the theft of their clothing or my sudden urge to exercise I was slamming the door shut.

I tromped down the road without really having a destination. Stupid Dean. I assumed he must have gone through life using that pretty face of his because so far his personality was really wanting. Future-me must have been dazzled by those green eyes. Or maybe I’d been hit in the head. Hard. Like a cave woman. Oo-oo-oo! Handsome man take Evangeline home to fuck.

It would take me a while, but I would eventually discover how good of a man Dean Winchester really is. Take his hunter abilities off the table and you’ve got a person who genuinely cares, who’ll lay down his life for those he loves no matter the consequences to himself or the rest of the world. My only gripe, and it’s a big one, is that Sam Winchester will always come first. Doesn’t matter who you are, what your circumstances, if it comes down to a choice between you or his brother, Dean will always pick Sam. _Always_.

It’s a big reason why when we did eventually try to make the love between us work it didn’t, and I ended up choosing his best friend instead.

By the time I could focus on where I was at during my unplanned walkabout I was standing in front of Paul’s bar. It was a mess. The window they’d initially broken was the one with his name printed on the glass. Its lack of stated ownership made it seem even emptier. Not only that, but the door was swinging back and forth in the wind. I hadn’t known the man very long, but he was decent, honest, a generous lover, and it pissed me off that those dickwads hadn’t had the decency to just shut the goddamn door.

My old jeans and boots were still by the bar. They were soaked in blood. Jacket was nowhere to be seen. Well, no use recovering them now.

A puddle of red sat nearby; Paul’s, I assumed. I sighed and turned to go back to the motel… and instinctively ducked under a pair of arms that had reached out to grab me. I popped back up and punched their owner in the stomach.

Someone else grabbed my far too big flannel and yanked. I shed it and whipped a kick around. My bootheel cracked into the head of one of the local guys. Then someone grabbed my ponytail and yanked. My foot slipped on some garbage and I ended up slamming my back on the sidewalk.

A male townie sat on my abdomen and the air left my lungs in a whoosh. While I struggled to regain it, some zip-tie handcuffs were wrapped around my wrists. I threw out obscenities and tried bucking the man off. My efforts earned me a blackout fist in the face.

What must have been a short time later I came to, swimming out of unconsciousness to Rob’s decidedly non-mellifluous voice. “Put her in with the others.”

Of course he’d be running this stupid shit. I was hauled off of someone’s shoulder and thrown onto the floor. A loud clamor was raised before the door banged shut. Semi-darkness descended.

I sat up and let my eyes adjust to the light before looking around. There were a lot of shoes in front of my face, some of them a little too small for comfort. A few of their owners began to cry, and their squealing tone confirmed my dread that there were children trapped with me.

I jumped when someone tapped my shoulder and asked, “Are you all right?”

I couldn’t tell who it was, only that it was a woman. “Yeah. Can you get these fucking things off me?”

“Phil?”

Whoever Phil was apparently had had a Swiss Army Knife on him when he’d been thrown in here. A larger body knelt down and sliced the plastic from my wrists. “Thank you,” I said. “Where the hell are we?”

“Church storage room,” said the first woman.

“Why?”

“Because apparently _we’re_ the ones who are keeping the rest of them from Heaven.” Bitterly the woman added, “Twenty years the whole town knew me and Grace were living together as lovers and all of a sudden _now_ it’s a problem. I just lucked out that she’s out of town at a conference or who knows what might have happened.”

I gave her a simple condolence. After a few moments I managed to drag out (in the spirit of sharing sympathetic blame), “They killed Paul.”

“The bartender?”

“Yeah.”

“Dear Lord.”

“Pretty sure they’re planning on doing the same to us.” I stood up. “Which is utter bullshit.” I poked the dark blob that I was pretty sure was Phil. “Give me the knife.”

After a moment’s hesitation he handed it over. “Don’t break it. Got it from my grandfather.”

“I’ll do my best.” Carefully I nudged aside the few people that were trying to pound on the door. They objected, but when I knelt down and started messing with the lock they backed away.

I heard voices, one of them clearly Leah’s, the other Jane’s. Jane almost sounded… guilty. I was contemplating the best way to cripple the woman without killing her when a pungent liquid splashed over my shoes. _Gas_.

“Shit shit shit.” I tried to work faster. The people behind me wailed or cursed. Someone (hopefully one of the kids) let loose their bladder and added to the stench. _Finally_ I had the lock undone, but as soon as I pushed open the door it slammed shut. Seeing as how the knob still turned it had to be the damn Whore.

I dropped the knife and kicked the door. ”Fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

My obvious frustration amped up the panic behind me and I found myself shoved against the wood. The others were screaming, pleading, crying, praying, and doing whatever they could to force their way out. Of course, that left me to be smashed, one ear pushed against the door. At least the position offered a slight advantage; I could clearly hear the violence happening on the other side.

Leah shouted something about a demon and someone punched someone else. Heard familiar grunts that had to be Sam and Dean fighting; cavalry had arrived. But when the Whore loudly ordered someone to light the gas, it made everyone around me go absolutely crazy. The kids started _screaming_ , set off by the grown ups’ panic, and I was now being asphyxiated, crushed against the door by the press of bodies.

Through the blood roaring in my ears I heard Leah, her tone derisive, very much not like serene icon she’d been playing. Dean’s low grumble came through. Almost immediately afterwards the hold on our prison was gone. Whoever had been jiggling the knob pushed the door and everyone poured out, stumbling or falling. I somehow ended up in Sam’s arms, coughing and gasping from the sudden influx of air.

Leah was on the ground convulsing, the cypress stake jutting from her chest. Her face warped unnaturally, switching back and forth from her normal, sweet features to the horrific mask that had to be the Whore’s true visage. After a few twitches a fiery spark swept through her bones, culminating at the stake. It vanished in a rush of fire as the Whore of Babylon finally died.

For a bit there was nothing but stunned silence. Jane broke the quiet as she stared at the body, bewildered. “But… I don’t understand. How are we supposed to get to paradise now?”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean (and I was certain he actually meant it). “Pretty sure you’re headed in a different direction.”

After ensuring I was steady, Sam helped Pastor Gideon to his feet. I followed, unwilling to converse with or comfort any of the traumatized townsfolk. The pastor’s parishioners were either glancing at the Whore, trying to comfort those who had been locked up, or apologizing profusely to an unsympathetic friend or family member. Jane had collapsed to her knees, her gaze still fixed on that black hole in Leah’s chest. I resisted the urge to kick her in the head as Sam, the pastor, and I passed.

Upstairs we found Castiel on the floor in the fetal position, panting. “Can you…?” asked Sam.

I nodded and knelt down to give the angel a hand. He clutched his abdomen and a trickle of blood dipped down a corner of his mouth. “You going to be okay?” I asked.

“Eventually,” he said.

“I can get him,” Dean offered. I glared and he backed off.

We hurried outside. Sam was interrogating Dean about what had happened, but I was more concerned with the fact that something had actually hurt a freaking angel. “What got to you?”

“A spell. We are not immune to certain magics.”

“Like what?”

“Old spells. She knew one in our tongue.”

“Enochian,” I recalled.

“Yes.”

Most guys I knew would have deflected or hid their weaknesses under subterfuge. I liked Castiel’s honestly. Also, never know when you might have to deal with a Heavenly dickwad. “Can anyone learn them?”

He eyed me askance. “If you are willing to consign your soul to Hell, yes.”

Knew there was a catch. “No thanks.”

Dean helped me get Castiel inside their black gas guzzler while Sam helped the pastor. I ended up sitting by the back passenger window. Once the brothers stood up again, I could hear the taller one demand across the roof, “Are you going to do something stupid?”

“Like what?” Dean scoffed.

“Like _Michael_ stupid.”

“C’mon, give me a break.”

They got in and began to drive. Castiel tipped over onto my shoulder, whether from exhaustion, pain, or the remnants of his binge I had no idea. I moved slightly to get his attention. “Who’s Michael?” I whispered.

“The archangel,” Cass mumbled.

Sam was Lucifer’s true vessel. I made an intuitive leap into a chilling interpretation of the Winchesters’ ambiguous conversation. “Is Dean _Michael’s_ vessel?”

“Mm-hmm,” he answered, his eyes closed.

“What the—why them? Why can’t you guys just find someone else? You know, someone less fucked up?” Demons, I knew, just swept into whoever was most convenient.

“Bloodlines. Others would explode. Fated to be.”

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “We can hear you. _Both_ of you.”

After that irritated proclamation silence reigned. Once we arrived at the motel, we discovered that Pastor Gideon felt well enough to walk on his own, but the wounds on his head and arm needed bandaging. Castiel, however, was still a floppy mess. This time I didn’t object to Dean‘s offer to help me get the angel up and about.

Castiel was laid on one of the beds. I grabbed a wash towel and wiped the blood from his mouth. He gave me a puzzled look before turning on his side, stupefied. Out of pity I stayed sitting next to him, my hand making gentle circles on his back. He seemed to appreciate it; his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed.

It was the first time I was given a chance to really look at the angel. The eyes behind those lids I knew shone a brilliant blue in certain lights, while his tousled hair and eyebrows were a shade less black than my own. Castiel was certainly handsome, but was that because of the angel or the man? Who was the vessel? Did he have a family? If Cass did something with someone in that guy’s body, did that count as cheating?

Why would I worry what he would do anyways? It wasn’t as if I had a vested interest.

Sam handed the pastor an ice pack and began to wrap the other man’s wrist. At the same time, Dean handed over a couple of large pills. “How’s the head?”

“I’m seeing double,” replied Gideon. “But that may be the painkillers.”

“You’ll be okay.” Well if that wasn’t the most insincere attempt at comforting someone.

Pastor Gideon, however, had his own opinion. “No.”

The man had lost a daughter. A guy he’d probably know for years had been shot dead in front of him. He’d been complicit in the damning of at least one of his followers. I didn’t think “okay” was going to be part of his vocabulary anytime soon.

There wasn’t anything I could do for the trio of heartbroken men; might as well see if the angel needed me. “Cass?” I asked quietly. “You okay?”

“Muh.”

Pretty sure that meant “Kinda.” “You want anything? Glass of water?”

“Nuh.”

Must be a no. “Advil?” No response. “Fist to the balls?”

“Bluh?”

“Where you going?” Sam asked suddenly.

I looked away from the wasted angel and saw Dean heading for the door. “I’m just gonna grab some clean bandages out of the trunk. Relax.”

Sam seemed to trust him. I didn’t. I stood up and headed for the window while Sam finished tying off a second round of bandages. He asked Gideon, “How’s that?” Before the pastor could answer we all heard the distinct rumble of the Winchester car’s engine. I jerked opened the door and rushed outside, Sam on my heels, only to find Dean screeching his way out of the parking lot.

Sam started cursing. I sprinted for my bike and turned the key. I know, I know, leaving the key sitting there totally sounds like I’m asking for it to get stolen. Truth is there are a lot of times when getting away quick equals living to see another day. Fumbling around while a werewolf is gunning for your heart? Easy way to die.

A friend of a friend is a decent witch, one of the ones that have natural talent and aren’t being bent over by demons for power. For a fee she’ll cast a charm that makes it virtually impossible for someone with ill intent towards an object to even see it. Granted there was that one time I’d come back from a vampire den wanting to kick my tires and discovered that the stupid spell worked on _me_. I’d had to go get several drinks to calm myself down before I could find my bike again.

I didn’t bother with a helmet and sped out of the parking lot. Dean was just getting out of sight, but since he was still in town he couldn’t get too far without doing some major damage to himself, his car, or the environment. If he hit a highway I‘d have a problem.

Unfortunately, the wide lane road leading into Blue Earth (the one the demons had liked for setting their traps) wasn’t too far away from the motel. It led right to the interstate, and if Dean got there first stopping him would be exponentially more difficult. Luckily for me, he didn’t overly accelerate. The man probably thought he was in the clear; not like Sam would have time to boost a car and come after him before he was fifty miles away.

The pretty-boy had forgotten about me. Shame on him.

I zoomed in close to his side, the distance between us small enough that I could have reached in and smacked Dean upside the head if he’d had the window open. I knocked on the glass instead. He jumped then glared. When he pressed the pedal down, I grit my teeth and went faster.

That muscle car of his might be well maintained but my old Triton went 0–60 in… well, I don’t know, but it was certainly faster than an old sedan (no matter how cool it looked). I swept my bike a decent distance in front of Dean’s grill before going for the maximum, my eyes narrowing to slits as the cold air slapped exposed skin. Once I’d gotten about a football field’s length away, I skidded to a sideways stop. A brushstroke of rubber was left on the asphalt.

As I was dismounting, Dean slammed on his brakes. Smoke billowed from where the tires scraped along the pavement. He squealed to a halt maybe ten feet from where I stood, panting, my arms dangling from my sides.

The black car’s door creaked open and slammed shut. Dean marched over to me and screamed, “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? You don’t even have your fucking HELMET on!”

I ignored the outburst. As soon as he got close enough I lifted up on my tiptoes, smiled, and asked through gritted teeth, “Where are you going?”

“None of your goddamn business.” He turned to leave.

I was having none of it and stepped in front of him. “I’m making it my business. You’re off to go be Michael’s bitch, aren’t you?”

That eye flinch was all the confirmation I needed. “Why the hell do you even care?”

I snapped my hands out and pushed him. “I care because I am one of the _billions_ of people around here that’ll probably die when two archangels settle some stupid million-year-old feud.” Pushed him again. “I _care_ because believe it or not? I don’t like it when people I know commit suicide.” And one more time. “I _care_ because what you are about to do will absolutely destroy your brother and I don’t want to be the one to pick up the fucking pieces!”

“Yeah? We barely know each other! Who the fuck asked you to do _anything_ for us, huh?”

“No one _asked_ me to!” I shouted up at him. “It’s what halfway decent people do.“

The fire in Dean’s eyes cooled as his newfound sense of hopelessness took over. “And who says either of us are decent people?”

“I thought _you_ were.” I folded my arms. “Until I found out you were a fucking coward. God,” I cried as I threw my hands in the air, “future-me must have been a complete idiot! There‘s no way that I could _ever_ love someone as selfish as you.”

“You’re right.” Uh oh. I’d finally pushed the right buttons; by the bite in those two words Dean had transitioned from from despair to rage. He advanced on me. “No one could love me because I _am_ a selfish son of a bitch.” Damnit, if I held my ground he’d tip me over. I backed up. “You ain’t the first girl to tell me that but you might as well be the last.” My calves hit the driver’s side headlight. “You know where I was going? Off to say goodbye to the one woman I thought might’ve one day taken in my sorry ass and kept me!” A finger jabbed me in the sternum. “This ain’t your decision, it’s mine. So _fuck you_ , Eva!”

Dean shoved me off of his car and made for his door. Intelligent person that I am, I stopped him by punching him in the side. He whipped around with a swinging fist and I ducked.

It was a more even fight that I would have thought; he was larger and stronger, but I was quicker. My biggest advantage, however, was psychological. Dean had already given up on everything (for whatever reason) and this fight with me was just the sputtering end of his guttering spirit. Conversely, I was _furious_ , certain that I was in the right about this argument, and was firm in my want to take the fucker down.

I couldn’t tell then why I was so angry at him. I think it was the way he was giving in. There was so much I had fought through, physically and mentally, to become the person that I was that seeing someone fold offended every fiber of my being. The fucking bastard needed to keep _fighting_. I wanted him to see the pain he was causing his loved ones. I wanted him to see that he was worth something to someone and that throwing his life away meant _nothing_.

It was the same thoughts Bobby had had to beat into my own head all those years ago.

I was straddling Dean’s chest trying to cave his face in when another car came driving up. I smacked him one last time before standing. We were literally in the middle of the road at this point, but the town was so isolated and the hour so late I doubt either of us thought we’d be interrupted. Small chance it was just some lost idiot. More likely it was either Sam or an enemy.

It was Sam, thankfully, with Pastor Gideon in the driver’s seat of a truck I’d seen him drive around town. The other Winchester hopped out looking relieved. Soon as he saw Dean on the ground and the blood on both our faces, however, that relief turned into confusion. “What the hell…?”

I kicked Dean in the stomach. He let out a grunt as shot pain up my side; the dick had cracked or broken at least one of my ribs. “Go then,” I spat at him. “Say your goodbyes to your bitch. Fucking coward.”

“Eva, wait!” Sam called as I limped towards my bike.

“What?” I snapped.

“You can’t go.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Bobby called. Hunter heard about a bounty: an Asian woman riding a motorcycle that’s helping… well, us.” He grimaced. “Demons have a price on your head.”

Oh, fuck me.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “99 Problems” (SPN 5.17).


	5. 5

We headed for Bobby’s. The first night there I had one of my nightmares.

It’s mostly because of these that I traveled alone. Sex or violence was a good way to pleasure myself into a relatively dreamless state (which is partially why I sought them out so often), but after all the shit that went down I was too tired to think straight. I mean, there were two viable candidates for the aforementioned activities in the car that I followed to Sioux Falls. Granted I’d beat one of them all to hell, but still: men are men.

We all decided that the safest place for me to sleep, just in case the demons were actively in pursuit, was Bobby’s supernaturally protected safe/panic room. I was a little puzzled when they set up a cot; there was already a small twin in there. It ended up being for Dean. Apparently Sam thought that this brother was a flight risk. Couldn’t blame him. After all, Dean had been off to let Michael ride his bones.

After the big metal door clanged shut Dean and I glowered at one another. Castiel, before taking off, had sobered enough to heal us from what we’d done to each other, but it didn’t erase the sentiments that had brought the fight on in the first place. I immediately sat down on the more comfortable surface, the bed, and yanked off my boots. Without speaking to my “roommate” I lay down and rolled over. After he let loose an exasperated sigh I heard Dean do the same (or something similar).

Let me make it clear: it’s not like I never sought standard medical help for my issues. Right after I was rescued I did the whole doctor and psychiatrist thing, but after the hundredth time of being told to think of the monster who’d done that shit to me as human (which he wasn’t) and therefore would be caught eventually and brought to justice (which he wouldn’t be) I quit. Discovered killing monsters to be far more therapeutic anyways.

In my nightmares, the scenery sometimes changes but the story arc never does. I’d be at home, or in my dorm room, or even in the motel I was currently using (I’ve even had one or two in the Bunker) doing something normal or boring like brushing my teeth or flipping channels. Then everything would get dark. My clothes would be gone. Between one blink and the next I would find myself lying on a horrifically familiar four poster bed, the smell of roses and blood drifting in and out of my nose, my wrists cuffed to the headboard. Hands would lock onto my thighs and pull apart my legs as _he_ crooned, “I do this because I love you.”

Except…

Except this this time the voice was _Dean’s_. And the dark chuckle that immediately followed was _Dean’s_.

At this point I normally wake up. Sometimes screaming, sometimes just in a cold, heart-thumping sweat. Only this time I was _stuck_. Dean’s face loomed above me, an unnaturally cruel smirk set on his face as he lowered his naked torso to mine.

“Now this is interesting,” said a new voice. “What a delightfully traumatized mind you have.”

I clenched my fists as Dream-Dean began to gently fondle my breast, repulsively soft kisses making their way along my neck and collarbone. A tall, somewhat portly man in a neatly tailored suit came out of the darkness. Thinning gray hair and gray-blue orbs topped the ensemble along with the most annoyingly smug twist I’ve ever seen on someone’s lips. “Who…?” I managed to gasp.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Zachariah. And _you_ are Evangeline Chung, currently listed very high on Hell’s most wanted list.”

Dean’s mouth was currently marking a path down my belly, his hands leaving bruises as they kept my thighs spread. “Demon?”

Zachariah chuckled. “Angel.”

My nails bit into my palms as Dean’s tongue met my clit. I bit off a cry. “You get off watching this shit?”

“Not at all. You apes are just so very fragile. This is just a…” The angel gestured into the air as he contemplated. “A means to an end.”

Unwanted arousal had me writhing on the sheets as my body instinctively reacted to the tongue skillfully dancing around my sex. It was just like _he’d_ done to me, just as it had been for weeks and weeks, sometimes playing the gentle, giving bedmate, his supposed love belied by my restraints and the bruises he left on my body. At any point, however, _he_ could change, his handsome visage and passionate eyes warping to show the monster that lay beneath.

The cuffs clanged as I pulled desperately against my restraints. This… _angel_ had no right to make me relive any of it. “Get out of my head!” I shrieked.

“Not quite yet.” Zachariah stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and sat next to my head. The bedsprings bounced slightly, but there was no disturbance to the violation occurring between my legs. “You see, Castiel’s been hiding the Winchesters and, peripherally, anyone that’s helping them.”

“He’s one of you,” I gasped, my hips thrusting upwards as I tried to throw Dean away. “Go find him.”

The angel’s lip curled in distaste. “Can’t, much as I’d like to. He’s Fallen so far I’m surprised he hasn’t slammed his head into the bottom of the Pit.”

That explained a bit about the whole alcoholic binge. I wanted to say something about how Castiel being a lush was better than whatever Zachariah was but Dream-Dean had crawled his way back up. His lips were immediately on mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth as his fingers slipped into my core. I knew what was coming, I knew what was about to happen, I knew and I couldn’t _stop it_ …

“See, here’s the deal,” Zachariah said through my whimpers. “I need to know where Dean Winchester is at. Pretty sure all of you are bunking together somewhere. Want to wake up? All you need to do is tell me.”

Dream-Dean was manipulating his cock to my entrance. I could feel blood dripping from my hands, my nails having pierced the skin. At a snap of the angel’s fingers Dean released my lips. I managed to give Zachariah a shaky, “Fuck you.”

“I don’t think you understand.” I gave a moan of despair as Dean was suddenly _in me_ , buried to the hilt. The tears I’d desperately been trying to hold in finally spilled as Zachariah leaned in to whisper, “Just give me a location and this will all be over. Going once…”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You don’t answer me, my boy here will ride you in every way imaginable. And a few ways _unimaginable_.” Zachariah leaned back and gave me a malicious grin. “Maybe I’ll help. Maybe my entire _garrison_ will help. Going once.”

Raped in my dreams by an entire horde of angels. All I had to do was give up the real Dean Winchester, let this dick hand the man over to Michael, and allow them to kickstart Armageddon. “ _No_.”

“Going twice.”

Dean pulled back in preparation to thrust. “N-No.”

“Aaaaand—“

“Eva!”

The scream that was crawling its way out of my nightmare-self ripped out of my actual throat. Even though I could bolt upright I thought I was still locked down; someone had my wrists in their iron grip. When I finally managed to snap my eyes open, Zachariah’s storm-colored eyes morphed into a deep sapphire. Where there had been remorselessness and glee there was now empathy and concern. I stopped struggling and tried to focus e through tears and a curtain of hair. “Castiel?”

“Yes.”

He let me go. I let out a wail before grabbing two handfuls of his coat and sobbing wretchedly. After a few moments I felt him, rather awkwardly, wrap his arms around me.

“Is she going to be okay?” came Sam’s concerned query.

“I don’t know.”

“What the hell happened?” Dean’s voice. I flinched and buried myself as far as I could into Castiel’s chest. The taste of the man flooded my tongue and I fought the urge to vomit.

“ _Zachariah_ had her trapped.”

“Explains why we couldn’t wake her up. What did that jackass want?”

“Where you’re at,” I managed to choke out. I was close to strangling my emotions.

“Did you tell him?”

Rage helped bottle the last of it up. “Fuck you.”

“I think that means ‘no’,” Castiel said unhelpfully.

“Yeah, Cass,” Dean replied dryly, “I think I got it.”

I sat up and used the edge of my sleeve to wipe away the last of my tears. “What time is it?”

“About one,” answered Sam, his worry evident. “Dean said you‘d started making weird sounds in your sleep. We’ve been trying to wake you up for almost an hour. When neither of us could do anything we asked Cass to come help.”

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Bobby shouted down the stairs. “Is Eva okay?”

“I’ll go let him know.” Sam hurried from the room.

I gave a shuddering sigh. Mental and physical exhaustion had seeped down into my bones but sleep wasn’t an option. Bobby had quite the collection of rotgut liquor stored in his kitchen and I intended to plunder the lot. When I started to get up, however, I found a hand placed on my shoulder. “You require rest,” stated Castiel.

“You think I’m going to give Zachariah a way into my head again after _that_?” I snapped. “Do you know what that asshole was doing to me?” My voice rose perilously close to a shriek.

“Yes.” Great. So much for privacy. “But If you wish to be useful in the morning, you need _rest_.”

“C’mon, Eva,” Dean added softly as I glowered at the angel. “Even I’ve gotta get my four hours in.”

Castiel nodded. “I will protect you.”

The statement surprised me. It wasn’t the offer itself; I mean, lots of people say that whether or not they mean it, but when they do there‘s always another layer. Those who intend to be kind always say it with a tinge of doubt, that there was indeed something out there so terrible, so overwhelming, that it would force them to go back on their word. Those who intend chivalry always say it with too much bravado, too much overconfidence, too much that says that they don’t _really_ mean it, but, wow, aren’t you impressed?

Castiel said it as simple truth.

I apparently stared incredulously at him for a bit too long; his eyed widened and Dean cleared his throat. “Fine,” I mumbled. If he was going to offer then I was going to make the most of it. I maneuvered the blanket from underneath my legs, wrapped myself up, and laid my head on the angel’s thigh. “Good night,” I told them as I wriggled into a comfortable position.

“Uh…”

“Yup,” Dean said, amused. “‘Night.”

* * *

I slept dreamlessly until early the next morning. Castiel’s low rumble woke me up. “She should rest more.”

“Don’t you think you should go check out… whatever it is?” came Sam’s voice.

“Yes, but I am afraid if I move she will awaken.”

“I’m up,” I mumbled. Rather than sit, however, I curled up more and squished closer to the angel. He was, oddly, in the exact same position he’d been in the night before. The only exception was the arm thrown protectively onto my shoulder. I felt comfortable and safe and I really didn’t want to give either of those up anytime soon. Finding either of those feelings in my life was rare; finding them both at the same time was a goddamn miracle.

“C’mon, Eva,” Sam urged. “Cass just got word of some angel thing.”

“Something is happening,” Castiel added.

“Fine,” I grumbled. As soon as I sat up, the angel was gone. “There goes my pillow.” I looked around. “Where’s Dean?”

An angry, “ _What other fucking choice is there?_ ” came floating down the stairs. Sam sighed and changed subjects. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

I grabbed my toothbrush before following Sam upstairs. We found Bobby and Dean in the middle of a row about whether or not the latter’s decision to give in to Michael was the right thing to do. I scowled before heading into the bathroom. If the stupid son of a bitch was still hellbent on martyring himself then he was an even bigger idiot than I thought.

By the time I’d emerged from my morning routine the argument had come to a sullen close. Bobby was at his desk flipping through one of his books (nearly tearing each page out as he turned them) while Dean paced. Sam gestured me into the kitchen and poured me a cup of coffee. Rancid stuff; Bobby never took me up on my offer to buy him a Keurig.

When Dean marched in his brother barred his way. “I’m gonna get a beer,” he said irritably, “do you mind?”

“A bit early,” I told him as he rummaged through the fridge.

“Hey, it’s happy hour somewhere.”

“Figured you for an alcoholic.”

Dean tipped his bottle at me. “If you’re gonna do something, might as well do it like you’re an expert.”

Before I could make any more pithy remarks, a gust of air blew through Bobby’s living room. When it cleared, Castiel was standing there, only he wasn’t alone; he was shouldering a young man completely covered in mud. “Help.”

The two brothers hurried over as Castiel laid his charge on the hideaway that Sam was using. I followed, more curious than alarmed, and ended up peering over Bobby’s head. “Who is it?” wondered the older hunter.

“That’s our brother,” Sam gasped.

“Wait a minute,” Bobby demanded. “Your _brother?_ Adam?”

Dean stared, dumbfounded. “Cass, what the hell?”

“Angels.” My eye twitched. Next non-trenchcoated angel I saw was getting its feathers ripped off.

“ _Angels_?” Sam repeated. “Why?”

“I know one thing for sure. We need to hide him now.” Castiel put a hand on Adam’s chest. The boy sucked in a pain filled gasp and sat up.

After getting his bearings Adam looked around at all of us, bewildered. “Where am I?”

Castiel stood up as Sam told his brother, “It’s okay. Just relax, you’re safe.”

I stepped away from the family reunion and found blue eyes looking down at me thoughtfully. “I should do the same to you. Outside of Bobby’s home you would be vulnerable.”

“Do what?” I asked warily.

Castiel placed a hand on my sternum. Sharp pain swept out from his touch and curved around my ribs. “Ow!” The discomfort disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “What the hell did you do?”

“Carved Enochian symbols onto your ribs. You are now hidden from all angels.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Would have been nice to have gotten a warning. “Not that it doesn’t feel nice, but could you move your hand off my tits?”

Hastily the angel snatched his hand away. That’s when I caught Adam demanding, “Now where the hell is Zachariah?”

My eyes widened and I shoved my way past a wheelchair and one of the jolly green-eyed giants in order to grab Adam’s lapels. “Why do you want Zachariah?” I yelled into his face. “Are you working with him? HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW HIM?”

“Hey hey hey, Eva!” Sam yanked me away from the astonished young man and pulled me over to the far side of the room. “I know you’re upset—“

“Upset? _Upset_?” Upset _hardly_ covered it.

“—But this isn’t the time,” Sam continued, rolling right over anything else I wanted to say. “It’s not just that Adam’s our brother. Before Cass went and retrieved him, Adam was _dead_.”

* * *

They had their little powwow and decided that there had to be something other than altruism for the angels to have reformed Adam out of ghoul shit. He, however, stubbornly adhered to his idea that Zachariah was right and we were wrong. Now both Adam _and_ Dean needed to be locked down before one of the idiots had the chance to spread his legs for Michael.

Sam and Castiel shut Dean back up in the panic room and I volunteered to keep an eye on the youngest Winchester Dumbass. After a single sniff I hauled him into the upstairs bathroom to wash off and gave him some of Dean’s clothes. Apparently all three brothers topped six feet. Stupid genes.

After he was mud-free and dressed I dragged Adam back downstairs. I plunked him back down on the mattress and proclaimed, “Move and I’ll cripple you.”

“What the hell is your problem, lady?” he snapped at me.

“My problem?” I snatched a Bowie knife from the top of Bobby’s desk and pointed it at the kid. “My problem is that the angel you’re claiming to be so buddy-buddy with decided to fuck with my head last night.”

“So? I don’t know you. For all I know you deserved it. He’s an _angel_.”

I couldn’t believe this guy. “Are you really this stupid?”

“Are you?” Brave little shit to be throwing that at someone pointing a blade in them. “Michael is supposed to take down _Lucifer_. You know, the guy that wants to flash-fry the planet? So excuse me if I want to believe the side that says they want to defeat the freaking _devil_.”

I frowned at his _way_ too defensive tone and walked up to him. Something else was going on here. When I bent a bit to look him in the eyes Adam squirmed. Shit, I was right: there was no way this kid was doing this just for the greater good of humanity. “Zachariah offered you something, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.”

I put one hand on his shoulder and in my quietest, most innocent sounding voice I asked, “What was it? Come on. You can tell me.” When he remained recalcitrant, I went the other route and pressed the knife’s edge to his neck. “ _Or_ I can start cutting.”

Adam went pale. He looked like he was going to either piss himself or throw up. Instead, he shouted, “Help!” Fucking chicken. Footsteps started thumping up from the basement.

Bobby had been in the kitchen and got there first. “Damnit, girl!” he yelled at me as he wrenched my wrist away. “What the hell are you doing?”

I glared at him; he knew _exactly_ what I’d been doing. Sam was comforting Adam (who was making whiny noises) as I jerked my wrist away. I stabbed the knife into Bobby’s desk before shoving past Castiel and tromping down into the basement.

I’d planned on using the cellar door to make a stealthy exit. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about the _third_ Winchester. “What’s going on?” Dean asked. His muffled voice echoed weirdly from the panic room.

“Nothing,” I replied bitterly.

“Don’t sound like nothing. What did you do to Adam?”

I walked over and slammed open the little sliding window at the top of the door. “Tried to get some answers,” I snarled at him. “Something all of _you_ are too goddamn sensitive to do!”

“He’s our _brother_ ,” Dean replied angrily. “Family.”

“Family doesn’t give him a pass.”

“What do _you_ know about it?“

“ _Everything_.”

“Bullshit!” Dean walked away from the door and ran his fingers through his hair. After several steps he came charging back. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Bet that hurt.”

“Maybe this bitch act you got going isn’t for any good reason at all. _Maybe_ you’re just some spoiled little daddy’s girl who went out and became a hunter because you didn’t like the car he bought you for your sweet sixteen!”

That was _it_. I shoved open the lock of the panic room and marched in. “My family is _dead_ ,” I snarled as I stabbed Dean in the chest with my finger. “My mom, my dad, my little brother. You know why? Because of _me_.” Why was I telling this asshole about my past? “Because a monster decided that innocent little Evangeline was the perfect victim for his sick games! Now I’ve got _no one_ since my _sister_ , my _only_ remaining family, blames me for everything!” And she should. “So don’t you ever… _ever_ …”

I hadn’t realized that tears had begun to flow in the middle of my rant. At this point they choked off whatever else I wanted to say. I stood there, shaking, doing my best to try and rein it in, while Dean fucking Winchester stared at me sympathetically.

All this was because of the previous night. Zachariah had torn down some of that wall I’d so assiduously built to deal with my past. Using Dean’s face was just the rotten cherry on the cake. Flashes of his features being perverted by cruel lust kept appearing behind my eyelids. Not only that, but I hated seeing _this_ guy, out of any of them, was finding me vulnerable. Dean was near _worthless_. He’d given up. He didn’t deserve to see anything of me other than the bottom of my boot.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly.

“Go to hell,” I whispered.

I walked out of the room and locked the door. When I turned around Castiel was standing there. “Shit!”

“Are you all right?” he asked, worry creasing his forehead.

“I’m fine.”

The angel looked uncomfortable. “He didn’t mean it.”

I gave him a disparaging glance. “Really.”

“Dean is…” Castiel sighed. “He has many burdens.”

“And that excuses him being a dick?”

The angel opened his mouth to answer and was cut off by the sound of something in the panic room crashing to the floor. Alarmed, the two of us peered inside the window. The desk had been shoved to one side, as close to the ceiling opening as possible, and Dean was nowhere to be seen.

Had he escaped? Impossible. Regardless, I pulled the lock and Castiel hurried inside. “Dean?” he called.

I spotted the errant Winchester first. He was standing behind a cabinet door. “Cass,” he stated before slamming his hand on the blood sigil he’d painted on the wood.

Blindingly white light flashed and Castiel screamed. I threw my hands up reflexively to shield my eyes. When I managed to open them again, the angel was gone and Dean was clamping one hand over my mouth. “Sorry about this,” he said before grabbing my wrists and dragging me from the room.

* * *

Dean didn’t bother with his car; too obvious. Instead, after tying my hands together and gagging me with what smelled like one of my own tank tops, he ran a few streets away and hot-wired the first usable sedan he saw.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated as he hit the highway. “I just… I didn’t wanna hit you.”

I glared. Wasn’t like I could respond vocally. “I’ll drop you off first chance I get,” he continued. “Just let me get far enough away from Sammy.”

Nothing I could do other than sigh angrily and get comfortable. His eyes slid over to me and then back to the road. “Can I free your mouth without you biting my freaking head off?”

No. Not really. But I nodded anyways. Dean carefully reached over and pulled the gag down. I spat fluff from my tongue before demanding, “Where the hell are you going now?”

“Somewhere else.”

We drove in silence for a few miles. The last bit of daylight was disappearing when Dean said, “Look, I’m sorry for what I said back there.”

“Stop _apologizing_ , goddamnit.”

“I can’t. It’s just… I got so much to be sorry for.”

“Like being an asshole?”

“Tip of the iceberg.” He sighed. “You know I started all this?”

“All what?” _Now_ what was he going to confess to?

“The Apocalypse.”

“Bullshit.”

He went silent. I entertained myself by watching how his throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously. “I got myself sent to Hell. For Sammy. Crossroads deal.” Dumbass. “You know how they make demons?”

“No.” I didn’t really want to know.

“They take you in and they torture you. Then they say that they’ll stop if you start doing the torturing. Long enough doing that and whatever made you human goes adios.”

I remember thinking how that sucks. _Hard_. Plus, how many demons had I encountered? How many had I _hadn’t_ encountered? How many souls were being distorted right now into psychopathic, sociopathic plumes of sulfuric smoke? “What does that have to do with—“

He kept talking as if I hadn’t interrupted. “Time moves faster down there. Four months up here, forty years I was _there_. I held out for thirty.”

Jesus. _My_ ordeal had lasted six weeks. Each day had been a testament to how much trauma one could inflict on a human body and mind without breaking it. To endure for thirty _years_ …? “Ten thousand nine hundred fifty days,” I said quietly.

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

“That’s how long you were being tortured. Ten thousand nine hundred fifty days.” Okay, so I‘m good at math.

I saw the shudder that ran through his body. “Yeah, well, it don’t make up for the ten years I spent _off_ the rack. First time I cut into someone else? That was the first seal on Lucifer’s Cage.”

I thought back to Oklahoma. “Your brother said _he_ did it.”

“He might have pulled off the _last_ seal, but nothing would have gone down if I hadn’t…” Dean’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “That’s why I need to do this. I started it, now I gotta finish it.”

I stared out at the passing lights. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because…” He sighed. “Because I’m hoping that you might understand. I need _someone_ to understand and… and none of them back there do.”

I _did_ understand. I really did. I knew what it was like to find out you were the catalyst that led to the destruction of everything you’d ever known. I knew how _crushing_ the guilt was.

The waterworks were starting again. Fucking Zachariah. I tried to sniff as quietly as possible. “Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s make a deal.”

“What is it?”

“I won’t stop you, but I’m going with you.”

“What for?”

“I owe Bobby a lot,” —you know, just my life and all— “and he told me that he’s known you guys since you were kids. Your brother’s a decent enough guy and Castiel is… well, he’s probably the only angelic angel around. I’ll tell them what happened first hand so that they don’t sit around wondering for the rest of their lives.”

Dean stared out of the windshield, considering. “All right.”

“Good.” I lifted my wrists and shook them in his direction. “Now untie me, you dickwad!”

* * *

He did, thankfully, and I kept my word. Well, mostly. If Sam was any indication then these Winchesters were too wily for me to try and overwhelm by force. Didn’t mean I couldn’t sit there and scheme. There had to be _some_ way of stopping Dean. Other than increasingly unlikely and fatal means, however, nothing feasible came to kind.

Towards midnight we ended up in Kansas City prowling around the less reputable parts looking for… something. I pointed out several hookers and a drug dealer but apparently getting off (one way or the other) wasn’t it.

Dean eventually stopped across the street from a nameless bar with neon signs proclaiming “El Sol” and “Schultz Beer” in the windows.

“You needed a bar?” I asked incredulously. “We passed at least six down that way.”

“Nope.” Dean unbuckled and opened the door. “Needed that guy.”

I got out of the car and saw what he was referring to: a loudmouth with a long beard doing the whole “The end is nigh!” spiel. “Seriously?”

“Trust me. Best way to get their attention.”

I followed him as he stalked over and yelled over the street preacher’s nonsense, “Hey! I’m Dean Winchester. Do you know who I am?”

“Dear God!”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Listen, I need you to pray to your angel buddies and let them know that I’m here.”

The preacher fell to his knees. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name—“

“You pray too loud,” snarled Castiel as he abruptly appeared and tapped the man on the head. I would have been more amused at the sight of the blabbermouth collapsing like a marionette if the angel hadn’t followed up by violently grabbing Dean’s shoulders and throwing him into the nearest wall.

My eyes widened in shock as Castiel shoved the man down the alley and shouted, “I rebelled for _this_?” He smashed a fist across Dean’s face before pulling him close and growling, “So you could surrender to _them_?”

I rushed over as Castiel socked Dean in the stomach and pulled on his arm. “Stop it, goddamnit! You’re killing him!” I don’t know what I was thinking. Despite Zachariah claiming that Castiel was nothing like them he was still a freaking _angel_. What in the world could I possibly do to stop him?

He turned around, one hand wrapped firmly around Dean’s neck. “Do not interfere,” he snapped at me before tapping me on the forehead like he’d done to the preacher. It was the last thing I remember from that alley.

* * *

When I woke up, I found myself staring at a pair of shiny men’s dress shoes and the hem of charcoal gray suit pants. “No…”

“Hello, Eva,” Zachariah said pleasantly. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

* * *

**Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Point of No Return” (SPN 5.18).


	6. 6

I scrabbled away from those shiny shoes as fast as I could and ended up banging my head into a marble tabletop. As I curled my toes and grasped my wound I cried, “Ow! Fuck! Shit shit shit shit shit!”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have an _extraordinarily_ foul mouth for a woman?”

“Bite me.”

“Aw,” Zachariah crooned as he crouched down to look me in the eye. “Only if you say please.”

Ugh, gross. I unfolded myself from my “fuck, I hit my head” position and maneuvered my way out from under the table. Tried to stay as far away from the angel as possible. Zachariah stood up as well and I did my best to ignore him while taking in the room.

Everything was off-white and gold. Paintings depicting biblical scenes were hung at precise intervals along the walls. The floor was polished wood, so clean I probably could have eaten off of it. Busts and vases were set on ornate side tables while lilies rested on the marble I’d hit my head on. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought I was in the dining room of some English noble from the tights and wigs age.

I was realizing that there was no freaking door when Zachariah began pacing around me. “You see, we _also_ heard that preacher. Thought it might be a good time to grab Dean Winchester.” He sighed, annoyed. “But of course, _Castiel_ grabbed him first. We did, however, manage to snatch _you_ mid flight.”

What? “Why didn’t you just take Dean?”

“Well, when grabbing someone in transport there’s always the possibility that the person will, you know, get ripped to pieces. Couldn’t risk that with Michael’s vessel.”

“But you could risk it with _me_.”

“Of course.”

Dick. “Okay, so why am I here? I’m not a vessel.”

“No, but you _are_ acquainted enough with those Winchesters that I think they’ll feel obligated to come save you.”

“You’re an idiot.” Irritation flashed across Zachariah’s eyes. “We barely know each other.”

“Maybe,” he said as he stopped at my back. “But I know for a fact that the Winchesters have this whole hero complex.” The angel’s breath brushed against the top curve of my ear as he whispered, “They’re probably panicking right now, trying to figure out where you’ve gone. Well, you and him.”

Him? A moan floated up from behind me. I swiveled around and saw a pale, crumpled Adam, blood making its steady way down one corner of his mouth. I hurried over to him and knelt down. “Adam,” I said insistently as I shook his shoulder. “Adam, what happened?”

The only vocal response I got was a good deal of wet coughing. His eyes slid over to Zachariah. I stood up and turned around. “What did you do, you bastard?”

“Eh, just a little lung laceration. I’m pretty sure he’ll survive. Just in case, though, that’s where you come in.”

I had to get us out of here. The only thing around that even resembled a weapon was a candelabra sitting on the faux fireplace mantle. I lunged for it, spilling the lit candles onto the floor. Zachariah was suddenly right in front of me, ostensibly to prevent whatever madness I intended, and gave me the perfect opening to plunge the decorative middle point right into his belly.

I twisted it, blood splattering my forearm, and the angel became… irritated. “Please,” he scoffed. A flick of a finger and I was sailing across the room and smashing into one of the paintings. My ass fell right onto one of the little tables. It immediately tipped me and the vase it had been holding straight to the ground. Next thing I knew that bastard’s thick hand was grasping my neck and slamming my back against the wall.

“I _had_ planned on just letting you sit around with your pal Adam,” Zachariah said with a cruel smile, “but you know what? I think I’ll indulge myself a little instead.”

He opened his hand, letting me drop to my feet, and punched me in the stomach. _Hard_. I felt something rip inside of me. The back of his hand cracked against my jaw and I smashed down to the floor. When I tried to get up his shoe slammed into my ribs. I folded over and tried not to think of the amount of internal damage this asshole was doing to me.

I tried to crawl away and Zachariah put his heel on my hand. “You know,” he said wistfully as he ground my bones to pieces, “I forgot how _satisfying_ it is to get your hands dirty and see the products of your work develop right in front of you.” I let out a choked cry as he used his shoe tip to snap my fingers. “I mean, sure, I’ve got power, but there’s never time to really do things right, you know? Well,” he said as he kicked me in the belly again, “I suppose you do.”

I really wanted to tell him to go fuck himself but I was too busy trying not to scream. My broken ribs were grating on each other and I could feel blood and bile rising up from my stomach. Every tiny twitch of my right hand sent explosions of pain straight down my arm.

Zachariah walked a few paces away. “I think I’ll let the two of you stew for a while. I expect the calvary to arrive any minute now.” Rush of wings later and he was gone. Adam was whispering apologies, but after a few seconds I couldn’t hear anything at all.

* * *

I have no idea how long I drifted in and out of consciousness. Could have been minutes, hours, days. Some things came through, not a lot.

* * *

Dean saying something to Adam, then bending over to try and wake me up. I think I said something rude.

* * *

A scream that sounded like Zachariah. Bright light pushed through my eyelids. Hope they made it slow.

* * *

Pain pain pain, getting dragged out of a door and hurriedly, but carefully, lowered to concrete. Sam calling my name. Dean screaming Adam’s.

* * *

Doctors shouting. Beeping. Tried to fight them. Something absolutely _delicious_ sweeping through my veins.

* * *

Bobby’s voice arguing, angry. Sam replying. Woozy. Sat up in a chair and pushed. Whee.

* * *

Leather. Rumbling. Lights going by.

* * *

A soft bed. Hand brushing my hair away from my face. Giving its owner a tired smile.

* * *

Loud conversation about a box. And Lucifer. And wiring money.

* * *

I came to in an enormous rush of energy, gasping and sitting up on the cot they’d put me on like I’d just surfaced out of my own grave. Remarkably, impossibly, I felt _great_. No pain in my hand, my ribs, I think even a freaking cavity was gone.

An IV line was feeding clear liquid into my hand. I jerked it out and took stock. Only things I had on were underpants and a tank top. Guess that made sense for whoever had been taking care of me for… however long it had been. “Oh, look,” said a new voice in a scratchy, cultured English accent. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

I peered through greasy tendrils of unwashed hair and saw Bobby and some dark haired man in a black suit. For no particular reason the latter gave me the creeps. “Who?” I asked. My voice was barely a croak.

“The name’s Crowley, love,” he said pleasantly.

“You said she’d be back to full health!” Bobby barked from his wheelchair.

“She is. Can’t help it if the lady’s thirsty.”

I rubbed my throat and glared. “What,” I managed to ask Bobby while jerking my chin at the stranger.

“Demon,” Bobby stated as he pushed himself to my side, the most beautiful glass of water I’d ever seen in one hand.

“King of the Crossroads to be exact,” amended Crowley.

“King?” I echoed as Bobby handed me my drink.

“Let’s save the details for pillow talk,” the demon said. He pursed his lips and blew me a kiss. If I wasn’t so busy chugging ambrosia I might have tried to give the thing a holy water enema.

Crowley, or Fergus MacLeod (depending on who you asked), is one of those demons who look so unassuming you don’t realize the danger until he’s pulling the knife from your back. It’s how he’s managed to survive for centuries, by treading the shadows in Hell and on Earth, making deals and damning souls. It’s how he almost got Bobby, and how he almost, years later, got me.

At the moment, however, the King of the Crossroads was busy smirking down at his crippled mark. “Bobby, you just going to sit there?”

“No,” Bobby snapped. “I’m gonna _riverdance_.”

“I suppose if you want to impress the lady.” The demon sighed, a wry smile on his lips. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Really wasted that crossroads deal. Fact: you get more if you phrase it properly. So, I took the liberty of adding a teeny little sub-a clause on your behalf.” Crowley shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an altruist.”

After a second or two of disbelief Bobby put his feet on the ground and _stood up_ , his face reflecting complete and utter astonishment. He took a few tentative steps forward. Rather than celebrate his newfound mobility I did my best not to throw my glass at the man’s head. Bobby had made a _deal?_ If he’d done it just to get me healthy and his own injury redacted I was going to cripple him all over again.

“Now,” the old hunter said to Crowley, “don’t you got somebody to be lookin’ for?”

“You’re welcome,” the demon replied dryly before he disappeared.

“Bobby,” I growled. “What did you do?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said. I could tell he was still euphoric about having the use of his legs again and was trying to hide it under feigned irritation. He giddily paced in a circle while staring at his feet. “You and this ain’t the only reasons why I did it. And I made a deal as a loan.”

“ _Excuse_ me? You actually trust that son of a bitch to give you back your soul?”

Bobby halted to glower at me. “No, but if you haven’t noticed we kinda got bigger problems than just me losin’ my soul. Like Lucifer?”

Made sense. Sort of. It was still monumentally _stupid_. “Just… ugh. Never mind.” It was done. Not like I could go back in time and stop it from happening. Instead, I decided to change subjects. “How long has it been?”

Bobby went stiff. “‘Bout two weeks. Got to the point where we wasn’t sure you were gonna wake up at all.”

Where was my cellmate? “Adam?”

“Michael.”

Crap. Oh well, nothing I could do about _that_. I sighed and wiped a hand down my face. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Not leaving me in a hospital.”

He nodded. “Don’t worry. I remembered.”

After Bobby rescued me all those years ago I spent weeks and weeks in the hospital. The physical injuries that I’d sustained (both internally and externally) required multiple surgeries to repair. On top of that, my mental instability had me on suicide watch as soon as I was mobile. Locked down, medicated, and monitored 24/7.

Once I escaped from the psych ward I vowed that the only reason I would ever have for entering a medical facility again would be if I was dying. Bobby knew this, which meant that Zachariah had beat the ever-loving shit out of me. Now _there_ was a little happy thought: I was pretty damn sure one of those Winchesters had killed the fucker.

I ran my fingers through my hair and they caught on a really stubborn knot. When I tried to pull it apart I was met with strands of hair that were both slippery and crunchy at the same time. It forced me to acknowledge that while Bobby had been great about making sure I hadn’t died he hadn’t done much for my personal hygiene. I felt _really_ funky. “I’m taking a shower. And then a bath. And then another shower.”

“Have fun. I’m gonna… walk up and down the stairs for a bit.”

* * *

I felt like I’d scrubbed off a dozen layers of accumulated filth by the time I was done. When I wiped steam off of the window and saw that my body was in the same shape as it had been before my encounter with Zachariah it was unnerving. Pretty sure after a two week convalescence I should have been pale and skinny and withered, not my usual sun-kissed, moderately toned self. Body by Crowley, brought to you by Hell.

Undergarments, black yoga pants, socks, and a white v-neck shirt. Boots. Hair hanging loose. I bounced down the stairs feeling like a new woman only to halt at the bottom. From the study I heard a trio of new voices: Sam, Dean, and Castiel. I leaned against the banister and listened to them talk. Something about a pestilence and death? Lots of the latter. Apparently Chicago was the next target for mass extinction.

“Bobby,” Sam said worriedly, “how’d you put all this together, anyways?”

As I approached, Bobby (who was sitting in his wheelchair feigning his paralysis, the big chicken) ambiguously answered, “I had, you know… help.”

“Wasn’t me,” I announced.

The Winchesters exclaimed my name with varying degrees of astonishment and relief. I smiled a little, uncomfortable with the attention. Castiel, however, frowned deeply. “How is it that you are no longer incapacitated?”

"One of my better notions,” Crowley said from right behind me. He fiddled with a lock of my hair. “You’re welcome.”

I locked my left palm onto my right fist and stabbed an elbow into the demon’s stomach. While he was trying to regain normal lung function I turned around and followed up with a punch to the face. Or at least I would have punched him in the face had the thing not disappeared and reappeared over where Bobby was sitting. I stumbled a few steps before righting myself.

Having snuck up on me and been treated to my instinctive reactions gave Sam, Dean, and Castiel cause to either smirk or snicker. Crowley merely looked annoyed. “Go on then,” he said to Bobby. “Tell them. There’s no shame in it.”

"Tell us what?” Sam asked warily.

Bobby looked around helplessly. I couldn’t see Castiel’s face from where I was at, but Sam’s expression verged on fear while Dean’s leaned towards anger. Pretty sure I was radiating contempt. “World’s gonna end,” Bobby finally said as he slowly stood up and revealed his miraculous recovery. He was trying for nonchalance but he knew that the people in front of him weren’t going to like what he had to say. “Seems stupid to get all precious over one little… soul.”

Dean took a moment to gape at Bobby. Then he was livid. “You sold your _soul_?”

“Oh, more like pawned it,” amended Crowley. “I fully intend to give it back.”

“Like we should believe you,” I said cynically.

“Did you kiss him?” Sam asked interestedly. When his brother snapped his name, he added, “Just wondering.”

After seeing that we were all waiting for his answer, Bobby cried, “No!” with a bit too much vigor. In response, Crowley cleared his throat and pulled out a cell phone. A nice, clear closeup of the pair of men locking lips sat there for all to see. “Why’d you take a picture?”

Crowley looked from his phone to Bobby. Casually, he wondered, “Why do you have to use tongue?”

All of us stared back at a speechless Bobby. The break gave Dean the opportunity to lurch to his feet and demand that the demon give up Bobby’s soul. _Now_. But, of course, the supposed King wanted to keep it in order to ensure his own survival against the Winchesters.

“I’ll return it,” Crowley sneered at Dean, “ _after_ all this is over, and I can walk safely away.” He then roared, “DO WE ALL UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER?” A moment later the demon was gone.

The two beanstalk brothers continued to argue with Bobby about whether or not he’d done the right thing. I glanced over to the roll-top where Cass was sitting and noticed the angel was uncharacteristically haggard. When I took a few steps over to see what was wrong I was surprised to see angry red gashes on his temple. “How did _that_ happen?”

“Uh… well… Pestilence, the Horseman, he—“

“No no no, I mean why are you actually _hurt?_ I thought that was impossible.”

The angel wiped tired eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Normally, yes. My Grace is… low.”

“Grace?”

“It is the source of my power. Now I am more human than angel.”

He sounded bitter. I whacked him on the shoulder. “Cheer up,” I ordered. “It could be worse.”

Cass gave me a disparaging glare. “How?”

I shrugged. “Lucifer could be walking the Earth and you could be standing around with no idea how to shoot a gun.”

“That is exactly what is happening. I do not see how that is worse.”

I forgot. Clueless. “Never mind. What _can_ you do?”

“I am an expert in swordplay and hand to hand combat.”

“Well, then let’s go do some shooting. Afterwards we can spar. Deal?”

His eyebrow lifted up at me. “Are you certain?”

“I’ve apparently been lying down for two weeks. I need to _move_. Let’s go, Cass.”

* * *

When Castiel asked me if I was certain about my proposition I thought he meant that he was going to be incredibly inept. Contradictorily he learned very quickly and his accuracy improved exponentially. The angel’s favorite thing to shoot, however, was the shotgun, something that didn’t really need a whole hell of a lot of aiming to be effective. I left him happily blasting bottles off of Bobby’s fence while I decided to see whether or not my own accuracy was still intact.

I picked a tree that had had a low hanging branch lopped off at some point. A nice, natural target of concentric rings sat there for all to see. I’d already done a checkup on my gunplay; now it was time to see if I could still shoot my bow. Unfortunately, I only had four arrows on me, and since the testosterone crowd preferred guns there was no way to easily replenish my stock. I was going to have to be careful.

The first one went wide, skimming the bark and ending up god knows where. I scowled in its general direction. The second smacked into an outer ring. The third into the center, as well as the fourth.

I smiled, smugly satisfied with myself, and nearly leapt out of my skin when from behind me Castiel said, “You are very skilled.”

“God—!” I resisted whacking him with my bow. The thing was expensive. “What is it with all of you and talking to the back of my head?”

“It did not seem prudent to come at you from the front at this time.”

Good point. “You ready to spar?”

“Are you certain?”

There it was again: that question. Being the easily irritated little shit that I am, I assumed he was asking because he doubted my abilities. “Yes.”

“Very well.” He looked off to one side. “There is a clearing over there. Mostly dirt.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I left my arrows where they were and packed up my bow. We left all the weapons disarmed and set neatly on one of Bobby’s derelicts figuring there really wasn’t anyone in the vicinity that would be stupid enough to steal one. Once at the clearing we spent several minutes tossing rocks and sticks out of the way.

I took off my shirt, which left me in a sports bra and pants. Castiel, however, didn’t bother undressing at all. “Seriously?” I asked.

He looked down at his signature coat, tie, and suit. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to—you know what? Never mind.” Really wasn’t any point to pushing the issue. I hung my shirt on a convenient branch and rolled my shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

I circled him casually and Castiel followed. When I experimentally popped a kick at him he batted it aside. A punch met the same maneuver. He threw one of his own. I ducked under his arm and ended up behind him. Unfortunately, the angel anticipated the move. His hand shot out and grasped my neck. A moment later I found myself slammed into the ground.

Castiel wasn’t at full angelic strength, but he still had the muscles of a fairly fit adult man and had a good fifty pounds on me. “Ow.”

Chagrined, the angel let go of my neck and extended a hand to help me back to my feet. “I’m sorry.”

I brushed debris from my back. He was _fast_. I’d barely seen his arm move when he grabbed me. Well, maybe this was good practice for the next time I found myself in some feathered asshat’s prison. “Round two?”

We engaged in another three rounds, two of which I lost. By the third I was frustrated and sweaty and covered in dirt while he stood there calmly. The only sign of effort was some dust peppering the bottom of his coat. I decided it was time for unethical tactics.

Castiel blocked one punch, two, grabbed my wrists and tossed me to one side. I rolled and came up with my fingers under my bra. “Hey, Cass!” When he looked, I gave him a show.

The angel was dumbfounded, mouth open and everything. I snapped the garment back in place, took two running steps, and rammed the flat of one foot square into his chest. He fell and I immediately straddled his stomach and raised my hands up in the air. “I win.”

He frowned. “You cheated.”

“Not my fault you can’t handle this.” I swept a hand down my front. “Now, you ready to—“

Castiel reached up, grabbed my shoulders, and reversed our positions. I was now flat on the ground with a slightly peeved looking angel resting between my legs. He glared down at me before leaning in and snarling, “Don’t do that again.”

I gave him a wry smirk. “Why not?” I asked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but—“

The angel was _just_ close enough for me to tip my head up and plant a quick kiss on his lips. It shocked him enough that he scrambled backwards off of me. I sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him; the angel was looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “What?”

“Wh… You… Why…”

I stood up and smacked my hands free of dirt. “You were getting heavy.” He was still quiet. “Please tell me you’ve at least _kissed_ someone before.” The angel replied by turning his head away. “Seriously?”

“There has never been an opportunity. Well, Dean took me to a den of iniquity—“

“A what now?”

“A house of ill-repute. The woman he purchased was displeased with what I said and did not do anything.”

That was a story I’d need to get out of that Winchester. Sounded both titillating and offensive at the same time. I held out a hand and helped Castiel to his feet. “Well, maybe one day I’ll get to know you better or be drunk enough to teach you about first base.”

The euphemism made him cock his head in confusion, but I didn’t feel like explaining; I was ready for another bath. After grabbing my shirt and pulling it on I asked, “Hungry?”

“Unfortunately.”

At the time I wasn’t sure what he meant. Later I found out that when he was at full power he had no human needs, including basics like eating, sleeping, and urinating. “C’mon. Let’s make those Winchesters go into town for some burgers.”

We walked back towards Bobby’s house in companionable silence. “What does it feel like?” Castiel asked as we were stepping into he salvage yard.

“What does _what_ feel like?”

“To kiss someone.”

“I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“Why you’re doing it.”

“I see.” We arrived at where we’d dropped off the weaponry and began gathering it up. “What did you feel back there?”

“It was a diversionary tactic, Cass,” I said blithely. “Not much.”

“Oh.”

Was that disappointment I heard? “Why? What did you feel?”

He paused. “Surprise. And some slight movement down in my—“

“Okay, whoa whoa whoa!” I cried. _Way_ too much information. It _was_ funny, though, that I’d given the angel his first sense of lust. “I’m flattered, but I hardly know you.”

“I believe it was a natural physical response.”

We were heading towards Bobby’s front door as Castiel was saying this. On the porch was Dean. He’d apparently heard the angel’s remark and his eyebrows practically crawled into his head. “Do I wanna know?”

“About?” I wondered innocently.

“Well, your back’s covered in dirt, and…” He gestured at Castiel.

I gave the Winchester a sweet little smile. “Why, we were fucking in the woods, Dean.”

He stared at the angel who was, at the same time, gaping at me. I blew him a kiss and continued into the house. From outside I heard, “ _Really_ , Cass? Wow.”

The angel’s stuttering denials followed me up the stairs. Ah, I felt a _little_ bad for leaving him with that. I’d have to remember to apologize later, but it‘s certainly a moment I recall whenever I feel down.

“Eva, hey!” Sam called as I reached the top. I turned around. “You’re sticking around for a bit, right?”

I shrugged. “Suppose so.”

“Good. We could use some help.”

“With?”

“One of two things. Dean’s going to Chicago to get Death’s ring.” That sounded delightful. “I’m going to the distribution warehouse of this pharmaceutical company. Giant place full of Croatoan virus.” That sounded even more delightful.

I’d heard rumors about the Croatoan thing and not just from the legend of the Roanoke colony. Before being murdered some doctor out in Oregon had sent out an email querying a colleague about a virus that had sulfur as part of its makeup. The story had spread out among the medical community as a joke and a curiosity, but when a nurse that moonlighted as a hunter caught wind of it he did some digging. Sulfur equaled demons, and he spread the word out among the hunter community to keep an eye out for a blood-borne illness that made its victims into crazed psycho killers.

I sighed. “So which of these wonderful scenarios do you need help with?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Sam replied. “We’re going to talk about it over dinner.”

I frowned down the stairs. “Why are you trusting me with your lives?”

“Bobby vouched for you and I saw you earlier helping Cass. You seem like a good person. Besides, the more people on our side the better.”

Doubt and fear zinged through me. I didn’t want these guys to depend on me and then die because of my mistakes. However, I’d declined to go with them before and the Harvelles were now gone. I didn’t really blame myself for that, but who knows what would have happened if they’d had one more fighter on their side? “Okay,” I told him. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

The smell of burgers and fries wafted upstairs when I stepped out from my third shower of the day. After getting dressed in clean undergarments, jeans, and a shirt I hurried down to get my share. The men were all beginning to dig in and Sam handed me a bag of awesomely greasy sustenance. I eagerly dug in and pulled out a burger without bothering to take my seat at the table.

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took that first bite. Forgot that I’d spent the last two weeks getting nutrients from a tube. The thing was gone in about thirty seconds. Apparently Sam had anticipated my empty stomach; there was a second sandwich waiting for me under the fries. I sat down and got to finishing my meal at a more leisurely pace.

The men gave me a quick rundown of the endgame. Lucifer needed to be returned to his Cage. There were four rings that were needed to open it and they belonged to the apocalyptical Horsemen: War, Famine, Pestilence, Death. The first they’d taken care of months ago in some small town that the horseman had driven crazy. Famine was more recent, but from the tidbits they were willing to share it sounded like he was even worse than War. At this point, for some reason, Castiel turned green and put down his burger.

Pestilence itself had been stopped but his plans were still moving. Along with a demon that had flown into the VP of Niveus Pharmaceuticals Pestilence had engineered a plan to spread the Croatoan virus through a swine flu vaccine. Incidentally, H1N1 had just made a wild comeback and was filling emergency rooms around the country.

Death was trickier, mostly because it was _Death_. We needed to get his ring, but the way the others had been retrieved had been by slicing them off the hands of their owners. Crowley had ever so happily provided Death’s own scythe, but how the hell were any of us going to be able to use it?

“I think Eva should go with Dean,” said Sam. “Just in case.”

“Crowley’s coming with me,” his brother countered.

Bobby snorted. “And we’re trustin’ a demon because…?”

“Well, you guys’re the ones headin’ into a big building that’s full of demons or Croats. Don’t you need every hand you got? Plus Cass’ batteries are dead. Don’t know what kinda use he’s gonna be.”

“I am now able to fire a gun,” Castiel announced testily. “I will not be _useless_.”

“It’s exactly because we don’t trust Crowley that I think Eva should go with you,” Sam told his brother. “And Cass’ll be fine.”

“It’s, what,” I pondered as I finished my fries, “a ten hour drive to Chicago from here? Less if we take my bike.”

“Where would that leave me?” Dean wondered.

“Riding bitch.”

He nearly choked on his burger. Sam pounded him on the back and said, “Better to take our car. More weapons in the back.”

I shrugged. “Guess we can share the drive at least.”

“You think I’m lettin’ you drive my Baby?” Dean asked with a scowl.

The Impala and his daddy issues. Still a thing, by the way. “If you want to be rested enough to face down _Death_ then yes.”

Dean cast pleading eyes over at Bobby over my insistence. “Hey, she’s as stubborn as the two of you. And she’s kinda right.”

I polished off my food and wiped my hands on a napkin. “When are we leaving?”

“Tonight,” answered Sam. “Newspaper said that the vaccine is being rushed out as soon as possible.”

“So if I’m going with Dean to Chicago, where exactly are you guys headed?”

“Decatur. Bit more south. We should be getting to our destinations around the same time.”

Dean looked at me. “Ready to go in ten?”

”Sounds good,” I told him. “Let’s go kill Death.”

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Two Minutes to Midnight” (SPN 5.21).

 **Author’s Note** : Niveus Pharmaceuticals doesn’t have any in-canon location so I picked one out of a lineup.


	7. 7

The ride to Chicago was actually pleasant. Dean was musically stuck in the hair band era, but Metallica and Queen were both on my list. Having played piano all those years skewed my tastes towards quality melodies and harmonies, and the most recent wave of repetitive nonsense and rudimentary background material grated on my musically snobbish nerves. We sang Master of Puppets and Enter Sandman, then rocked out with Bohemian Rhapsody, Wayne’s World headbang and all. Freddie Mercury would be proud.

Good God, the man was tone deaf. Luckily his enthusiasm made up for it.

We talked a bit, mostly innocuous subjects; movies and television, the weather, idiot hunters we’d encountered over the years. Dean did clarify that Sam was the _younger_ brother, something I actually hadn’t been sure of because of the height disparity, but we didn’t get any farther into family than that. We shared silly landmarks we’d been to (ball of twine? Really?) and ones that we hadn’t seen. Both of us had the Grand Canyon on our bucket list. He’d never been to San Francisco, a revelation that I pretended to be greatly offended by. I expounded at great length about Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghiradelli Square, Castro during Halloween and Pride Week, and the Asian Art Museum, but he was more interested in the infamously salacious stretch on Broadway. He made me promise to spot him a lap dance if we were ever in the city at the same time. I acquiesced, as long as he didn’t patronize the club where my sister frequently gyrated.

It was weird to think that this was the same Dean Winchester who’d been so ready to throw his life away a few weeks prior. _This_ guy sang horribly, blurted out sarcastic and perverted comments, and exuded an infectious sense of optimism. What had happened, I wondered, to completely change his outlook? Whatever it was it made him a lot more likable and, frankly, a lot more attractive.

I was tempted. Very, _very_ tempted. He’d hit the genetic lottery in terms of facial structure (symmetrical, well proportioned, arranged so it all was on the verge of being _pretty_ ), and hunting offset his extraordinarily unhealthy dietary preferences. I had this feeling, however, that Dean and I had formed a bond _just_ close enough that my modus operandi of _fuck ‘em and leave ‘em_ wasn’t going to fly. I therefore kept my libido in check.

I took over driving about four hours in for a stretch that Dean said would be short, just long enough for a nap. He gave me about three dozen warnings regarding his precious Baby that I took impatiently (while mentally stabbing him in the eye). Although the fact that he was so attached to the black Chevy was somewhat disturbing, I could relate. I’d be devastated if someone had totaled my Triton.

He fell asleep almost immediately and I reveled in the chance to test out the old girl. It roared delightfully when pushed, and I tipped the speed over 90mph for about ten seconds. Unfortunately, that made Dean twitch in his sleep. I slowed down to a modest 75mph before he could wake up and go nuts over how I was treating his child.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how much trust he and his brother were putting in me. Just the fact that Dean was letting me touch his beloved steering wheel said volumes. I suppose a lot of it had to do with the fact that Bobby vouched for me, but I’d been a little worried that they might think me more of a liability than an ally.

A lot of their enemies seemed to think that I was a readily available pawn. That or I just happened to become a victim during whatever bullshit was going on at the time. There was the Douchebag Duo using me as a hostage, my crazy-ass reaction to Dean’s supposed revelations about our future, getting shot by those stupid religious nuts, and being forced to become leverage by an asshat angel. These incidences seemed to slap me with the title of dramatic princess and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Then again, there were a few times that they’d seen me in a better light. I’d gotten myself free at that bar in Oklahoma, handled my own during the farmhouse raid outside of Blue Earth, and had given Castiel firearms lessons. Oh yeah, and beat the shit out of my snoring passenger.

I suppose, then, the Winchesters were starting to tip over the line from acquaintances to friends. It was a little unnerving; I’d purposely avoided any attachments (other than Bobby, but that was a special case) ever since I’d begun hunting. Attachments meant weaknesses; tools that the enemy could use to fuck you over. Case in point, all the nonsense I’d experienced in their company. Yet here I was, driving someone else’s obviously much-loved vehicle, actually enjoying the company of another person. It was nice. And it was dangerous. I wasn’t sure if I was happy about it or not.

Speaking of dangerous…

“Hello, you two.”

I didn’t scream, but I did jerk the steering wheel sideways into an adjoining lane. Dean woke up immediately and fumbled for his handgun as I pulled over to the side. Once we were stopped the two of us swiveled around to glare at the demon in the backseat. “What?”

“You’re a dick,” I snapped at him.

“Love you, too, darling,” Crowley crooned at me.

“The hell do you want?” Dean said belligerently.

“Just wanted to provide a few specific directions. When you get to Chicago, take I–390 then exit the first chance you get. I’ll meet you there.” A second later he was gone.

I leaned back on the headrest and let my heart slow down. “Fucking demon.”

“I’m ganking that son of a bitch soon as he turns over Bobby’s soul,” Dean growled. “Anyways, I’m up. Switch.”

Boo. Oh well, at least I could say I drove the Winchester Impala once upon a time. However, the amount of room to get out on the driver’s side was negligent at best. Rather than get run over I curled my feet up, pushed myself to a crouching position, and slid backwards over the seat.

“Watch the upholstery!” Dean groused as I reversed the maneuver to get into the front passenger side.

I kissed the leather. “I’m sorry, car. Your daddy didn’t mean to yell.” When I looked up, Dean was staring blankly at me. “What?”

“I dunno,” he said as he accelerated into the freeway. “Trying to decide if that was hot or weird.”

“Why not both?”

He snorted. “Whaddya say to another round of Queen?”

I opened the glove box to flip through the tapes. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

The closer we got to Chicago, the more ominous the skies became. Clouds grew steadily more dark and rain intermittently spattered the windshield. The winds got so bad they actually rocked the car. Weirdly enough, the weather calmed when we entered the city, as if we’d entered the eye of the whole, unnatural storm.

Crowley feigned embarrassment when the first location he’d found ended up being a bust. We drove a few streets over, the demon in the backseat, and ended up hitting a more populated area. Dean parked then smacked the steering wheel, frustrated. “How the hell am I supposed to get three million people out of Chicago in the next thirty minutes?”

There was no answer coming from Crowley, mainly due to the fact that he was now standing across the street pointing vigorously into a pizzeria while mouthing something incomprehensible. “Can I go out there and smack him?” I asked.

“Not yet. I can’t hear you, dumbass!” Dean shouted at his closed window.

“I said,” Crowley grumbled as he reappeared in the back seat, “I found him. Death. He’s in there.”

After scowling at the demon for startling us (again), we turned to peer towards the restaurant. “You coming?” Dean asked the demon. “Or… not,” he muttered upon discovering that the so-called King had once again disappeared.

The elder Winchester reached over my lap to pull open the glove compartment. He grabbed one of the phones and stuck it and his keys in my lap. “I’m not out in twenty minutes you get the hell out of here and call Sam.”

“But—“

“Look, we don’t got time to argue! We got one weapon.”

“Oh for—“

“You think there’s really anything we got that you could bring that’ll work on _Death?_ Like, _the_ Death. Fear the reaper and all.”

He had a point. A stupid point. “Fine.”

“Okay.” Dean grabbed the scythe and tensed. Before he could talk _himself_ out of not going he shot out of the car and headed for the pizzeria. The man looked as if he was marching to the scaffold, to be honest, and I hummed a few bars of Berlioz to accompany the scene.

My view out of the driver’s side window was suddenly blocked by a smirking demon. “You have a far better sense of song than that idiot.”

“The hell do _you_ want?”

“Fancied a bit of a chat. You know, I tried to get a deal from dear old Hector, offer up true love and all of that nonsense. In my opinion the man just liked being miserable.”

If he knew Hector Berlioz then Crowley was _at least_ one hundred, perhaps two hundred, years old. It made him far more dangerous than I first thought, but it didn’t lessen how much he irritated me. “We’ve chatted. Now get out.”

“Oh, no no no, not yet. You see, I’m a little curious as to what you’re doing here. You’re not related to the Winchesters, nor to Bobby Singer, and yet here you are accompanying our dear old Dean to see a Horseman.”

I thought back to that demon infested night when I’d met Sam. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

“Hm.” A cruel smile lit up Crowley’s face. He leaned over and I fought the urge to back away. “Just like you were in the wrong place and wrong time back in California?”

My breath stilled as I was viciously assaulted by memories. “You shut the fuck up.”

“Or?”

I whipped a blade out from behind my back and stuck its point under Crowley’s chin. “How quickly can you rebuild your head?”

The sadistic little fucker laughed. “I like you, girl. I think I’ll keep an eye on you after all this is done.”

Abruptly, Crowley was gone and I was left alone to wait with my now turbulent thoughts. I didn’t know what the so-called King meant by “keeping an eye on me” but I sure as hell didn’t like it.

Turns out I was right to be wary. That motherfucker would be the cause of so many of my troubles.

Dean came back about twenty minutes after Crowley left, his face white as a sheet. With a quivering hand he dropped a heavy ring with a square white stone onto the dashboard. He eyed it with loathing. “Fuck.”

“So that’s it?” I asked quietly.

“Yep.”

“What happened exactly?”

“Death gave me pizza.”

I blinked at him, certain I’d heard him wrong. “Pizza?”

“It was really fucking good pizza.”

Okay so he _had_ said that. “Then what?”

Dean explained that Death was mystically bound to Lucifer and found the arrangement offensive. The Horseman was therefore more than willing to give up his ring in exchange for his freedom. Unfortunately, that required locking Lucifer back in his Cage, and the only way that Bobby and the Winchesters could figure out how to do it was to let Sam say “yes” and let _him_ leap in. Death’s final word on the matter was to make Dean promise to do _exactly that_ , concluding the ultimatum by ominously quoting, “You know you can’t cheat death.”

At this point Dean promptly opened the driver’s side door and threw up Death’s pizza. I waited while he spat out the last of it and sat back in his seat. There was a familiar aura of hopelessness growing around the man, the same kind of despondency I’d felt back in Minnesota. Had to put a stop to this quick. Just… what were the right words to say?

“Ow!”

Okay, so I smacked him first. “I see that look in your eyes. You want to _die_ rather than see this happen.”

“I ain’t—“

“Shut it!” I barked. “This isn’t about _your_ loss! It’s about _billions_ of people who’ll get their asses fried if Lucifer and Michael have their little bitch fight. So we’re going back to Bobby’s, we’re going to try and hash out another plan, but if _Death_ says that this is the only solution I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“It’s my _brother_ ,” he countered. “He’s all I got.”

“Is he?” He looked at me, eyebrows lifted. I shook my head. What, did he think I was offering myself? “There’s Bobby, and that chick you wanted to go to. Hell, _I’ll_ even be your friend. You’re not alone, Dean, no matter what you think.”

The man stared out of the windshield, his despair receding but not gone. “How did you do it? What did you do to make yourself keep going… after?”

I didn’t need to ask what he meant. “I’m _still_ doing it,” I said quietly. “It hurts every day. But I’m _not_ giving up.” I grabbed his shirt and pulled him to me so that we were nose to nose. With gritted teeth I threatened, “If you start to do that again I will shove my sword up your ass to pry your damn head out of it.”

Dean blinked at me several times after I let him go. He finally turned away to start the car and pulled away from the curb. “Eva?”

“Yeah?”

“You are one scary bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s all part of my charm.”

* * *

The ride back to Sioux Falls was considerably more solemn than the one to Chicago. We played the same music, but we didn’t speak unless it was absolutely necessary. At the halfway point we stopped for gas and I offered to drive the remainder. Exhausted by the previous trip and the trials of the past several hours Dean relinquished his keys without _too_ much fuss.

We rolled into the salvage yard in the small hours of the morning. Sam’s astonished face when he saw me behind the wheel was priceless. “Where’s Dean?” he asked as I got out of the car.

I thumbed towards the back where his brother was sleeping, one knee up and arms folded. “Passed out.”

“He actually let you _drive_?”

”She threatened to stab me in the face,” Dean grumbled as he sat up and yawned. He wiped a hand down his face before directing haunted eyes at his brother. “We need to talk.”

Sam looked at me. All I could give him was pity. That and the car keys. “Good night, you two.”

I collapsed upstairs on the guest room bed, but couldn’t fall asleep. The Winchesters’ voices drifted up from the yard. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could guess the gist, and the deep resignation in Dean’s tone was heart-wrenching. I needed a distraction.

I found it in the panic room, pacing. He stopped short once he spotted me standing in the doorway. “Evangeline.”

I pulled the door shut. “Castiel.”

“Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” I walked up to him. “You.”

It was astounding how two little words could send an ancient celestial being into near catastrophic levels of panic. “What?”

I snaked my arms around his neck. “You.” I licked my lips. “Just you.”

He hesitated, his hands slowly drifting to my hips. “What are you doing?”

Rather than answer, I pressed my mouth to his. The angel froze and I thought for a moment that I’d made a mistake; maybe he wasn’t interested. Maybe he liked men.

Then his arms were crushing me to his chest, his tongue probing at my lips. I opened them found my breath taken with each languid stroke. His growing erection pressed right above my folds. A wet heat blossomed between my legs.

We parted, breathless. “Wait,” Castiel whispered hoarsely.

“Why?”

“I… can’t.”

I rubbed against him. “It feels like you can.”

“Evangeline… I know what happened to you.”

A harsh coldness swept through my veins. Fear? Anger? I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your scars. I know each one was inflicted.”

I backed out of his arms. “And?” Whatever it _had_ been it was definitely now growing into rage.

“I will not add to your pain.”

I was expecting censure, maybe pity. This gentle declaration completely unbalanced me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “You know nothing about my _pain_. You don’t know _shit_ about me!”

“I know you do not want me because you love me,” Castiel said quietly. “I know you do this because you are damaged, inside and out.” He put his hand gently on my cheek. “I am sorry I cannot heal you of all your hurts.”

His head snapped to one side, lip bleeding from how hard I slapped him. A few treacherous drops made their way down my cheeks as I spun on my heel to leave.

“Wait,” Cass called. I kept walking. “Please stay.”

“What for?” I whispered.

He sighed. “For me. Please. I’ve never slept before, at least on purpose. I’ve been trying to figure out how.”

I turned around, incredulous. “You want me to show you how to _sleep_?”

“Please.”

If anything, the angel was polite. I threw my hands up. “Fine. Lie down.”

He obliged, slowly sitting on the edge of the twin cot before swinging his feet up onto the mattress. I walked over and pulled his shoes off. “You shouldn’t sleep with these on,” I said as I put them neatly side-by-side on the ground.

“All right.”

“Close your eyes.” He did. “Just wait.”

Castiel lay there stiffly, his fingers locked together on his sternum and his eyes pointed up at the wrought iron devil’s trap. “Nothing is happening.”

I rolled my eyes. “Relax.”

He was trying, I could tell, but I think it was so unnatural for him to _rest_ he was having trouble grasping the concept. After a few moments I began to hum, the same little tune I used to use to get my brother to sleep. A little smile turned up the corners of his mouth. The angel’s arm opened up invitingly and I lay my head on his shoulder, still humming. It took a minute or so more for his breathing to turn slow and even, and for his limbs to finally let go of that ever present tension.

I propped myself up on my elbow to look Castiel in the face. Without the pinched strain on his features I could see how young his vessel truly was. The man couldn’t have been past his mid-thirties. I wondered if he’d had a wife, children, friends. Did they know what happened to him? I lay back down on the angel’s shoulder as I asked myself, did they worry? What would happen when all of this was over? Would he…

The next thing I knew was someone gently shaking me awake. “Eva. Eva, darlin’.”

“No, dad,” I mumbled. “Five more minutes.”

“Girl,” Bobby said, clearly amused, “I ain’t your daddy. And that ain’t a teddy bear.”

My eyes snapped open. All I could see was a wrinkled blue tie. Cass and I had apparently tangled ourselves together in the middle of the night; my arms were tucked in under his embrace and he had one leg over my hip. My own limb was trapped between his, and my ear was resting on his bicep.

The angel was still sleeping. I gently extricated myself and sat on the edge of the bed. “What time is it?” I asked quietly.

“‘Bout eight or so,” Bobby replied. “Coffee’s on.”

He made no comment about my sleeping arrangements, for which I was grateful. When we got upstairs, Bobby headed to his desk. “Pour me one, too.”

I brought over two cups and set one in front of him. He immediately unscrewed a flask and dumped at least half the contents into the drink. “Would you like some coffee with your whiskey?”

“Shush, girl,” he admonished. “World might be ending the next few days. Figures that means I can drink whatever I want.”

We drank in companionable silence for a bit. “How long do you think Cass will sleep?” I asked worriedly. “For that matter, how long will it take for him to recharge?”

Bobby shrugged. “I’m not an angel expert. No idea how long that’s gonna take. By the way, thanks for showin’ him how to work that shotgun. He actually came through yesterday. Speak of the devil.”

A yawning, disheveled Castiel crested the staircase from the basement. We exchanged slightly embarrassed smiles before I headed to the bathroom to do my ablutions. By the time I got out, dressed and refreshed, Sam was there finishing up his own cup of coffee. “Hey, Eva,” he said. The words were pleasant enough, but there was a distinct edge to his tone. “Dean and I need to go run an errand.” He looked at Bobby. “Can the three of you meet us later at the… you know.”

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“I’ll fill ya in,” Bobby offered as Dean came hurrying down the stairs. The shorter Winchester called out for the taller without acknowledging anyone else. Five minutes later, their Chevy was roaring out of the yard.

Bobby and Castiel took turns telling me what was about to go down. Opening the door to Lucifer’s Cage required the four Horsemen’s rings and an incantation in Enochian that Death had given to Dean. Basically the plan was this: Sam was going to say “yes,” fight the devil for control, Dean would open the door, and his brother would hop on in. Simple and stupid. Except…

“How do we know Sam’s going to be able to overpower a freaking archangel?” I wondered.

Bobby and the angel exchanged glances. “Sam will be fortifying himself,” Castiel replied.

“With what? Celestial steroids?”

“Demon blood.”

I thought back to that bar in Oklahoma, where Tim had wanted Sam to “Hulk out” and go back to take vengeance for Steve. “Drinking it gives him power.”

“Yes.”

Curious. “So why don’t more people go all vampire on demons? Sounds like it’s crack in liquid form.”

Bobby lifted an eyebrow. “Other than the fact that tryin’ to tie down a demon to drain ‘em ain’t exactly a walk in the park? It only works on Sam.”

“Why?”

“Maybe we should wait on that,” Bobby said at the same time that Castiel explained, “Sam has demon blood in his veins.”

If he were the type to do so, I’m pretty sure Bobby would have smacked himself on the forehead. “Do I want to know?” I asked.

“Later, okay?” The elder hunter spoke too fast and too loud; he was obviously trying to override Castiel before he spilled anymore state secrets. “We got bigger things on our plate. Let’s go stock up on holy water and salt rounds. Gonna probably see a lot of demons before the day’s through.”

* * *

We loaded up both Bobby’s truck and my saddlebags with as much anti-demon battle gear as we could, including several cans of spray paint for traps. Bobby asked me to follow him and we were off.

An hour or so after we’d left the salvage yard we pulled off onto a dirt road. At the end of it was a grayish barn that looked as if it had seen better days. Castiel climbed down out of the passenger’s side of the truck, a silver stiletto in hand, and went inside. “What’s that he’s got?” I asked Bobby.

“Angel blade,” he replied. “Things work on most anything, including other angels.”

I eyed the closed door covetously… then frowned when I heard a man desperately pleading for mercy. “Demons?”

“Demons.”

The voice cut off with a gurgle. A second man began laughing, the sound somewhere between hysterical and maniacal. It, too, was wetly silenced. I’m not squeamish, but I wasn’t curious or sadistic enough to want to see firsthand what was going on in there.

Bobby and I waited, he scrolling on his phone and me trying not to imagine what the others might be doing. When the Winchesters and the angel finally emerged it was with milk jugs full of crimson. _Demon blood_. “Got some omens for you,” Bobby said as he approached them.

“Lay ‘em on us,” Dean replied.

“Cyclone in Florida, temperature drop in Detroit, wildfires in L.A.”

“Wait. What about Detroit?”

"Temp’s dropped about 20 degrees, but only in a five-block radius of downtown Motown.”

"That’s the one. Devil’s in Detroit.”

“How can you be sure?” I asked skeptically.

Dean glanced at me and then away. “I just know.”

Oh. Future thing. “Fine. I’ll go ahead and recon.”

Sam shut the trunk of their car before narrowing his eyes at me. “Wait, what?”

“I’ve got the fastest ride. I’ll make sure exactly where to go. If it’s a bust then we can find out ahead of time and you guys can head to the next possible place.”

“Promise me that’s all you’ll do,” the younger Winchester said worriedly. “Don’t even think about going near him. Just find out where he is.”

“I’m not _stupid_.”

Dean opened his mouth, his smirk saying it was to refute my claim, but I stomped on his foot before anything could come out. As he was hopping up and down and cursing his dumb head off I gave them all a wave. “I’ll call soon as I get there.”

“Be careful,” Bobby told me.

“I will be.”

* * *

I got to Detroit about an hour or so ahead of the rest of them. It was around 2am and the streets were relatively empty. I circled around a bit, driving casually and peeping about as if I were a lost tourist, before ending up at a block that was completely devoid of people. I’m talking about no one burning the late night oil, no homeless people shuffling through garbage, not even a freaking baby crying.

Not only that, but it was _cold_. Bobby had already mentioned that part of Detroit was experiencing an unprecedented temperature drop, but around _this_ city block things took an even deeper dive. I shivered in my road leathers and parked my Triton down an alleyway.

I took my helmet off to call Bobby. “He’s here.”

“You sure?”

I walked to the edge of the alleyway and spied a man lounging in front of a building across the street, someone that hadn’t been there thirty seconds ago. “I’m sure,” I replied as said man peered about with coal black eyes. “Demons are already here. Try to come in quietly.”

He hung up after I described the intersection I was at. I climbed up the nearest fire escape and chilled out at the shadowiest alcove on the third floor. Hopefully the others would show sooner rather than later; not only was it freezing, but I was getting some serious bad vibes from that building across the way. Every time I looked at the second floor window I could swear someone was staring right back. That someone exuded malice, hate, contempt… and, oddly, a deep sadness. Maybe Lucifer just needed a big hug or something.

Bobby showed up first. He complained about his poor old body and made me climb down to join him. I pointed at Satan’s current abode. The hunter withdrew a set of binoculars and confirmed my suspicions.

That damn loud Chevy showed up several minutes later. When its driver got out, I hissed, “Don’t you know the meaning of ‘come in quietly’? Invest in a Prius or something!”

Dean looked both horrified and offended at the suggestion. He muttered something about a “crazy woman” as he followed his brother and Castiel to the trunk of their car.

Bobby and the angel spent some time giving Sam their goodbyes, with Castiel stumbling over an attempt to be comforting. I kept to the hood of their car, unwilling to intrude on such a private, solemn moment. To my surprise, after he was done with those farewells Sam walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Eva.”

“Sam.”

“Listen. I was right: you are a good person. Even though you barely know me and my brother you’ve stayed to help. I just wanted to thank you and to tell you that I wish I’d gotten to know you better.”

Unexpectedly a lump formed in my throat. “Thank you,” I finally managed to whisper.

He held out a hand, but instead of shaking it I pulled him down by his lapels and gave him a good long smack on the lips. “Something to take with you to Hell,” I whispered with a smile.

Dean was smirking as Sam wobbled back over to the trunk, red-faced. After composing himself, the younger brother asked the elder, “You mind not watching this?”

Dean’s face fell. He walked over and leaned against the hood with me while Sam chugged I don’t know how many gallons of demon blood. I risked peeking and saw him hurl away an empty container and grab another. The sound itself was nauseating, but far more disturbing was the way his eyes glazed with ecstasy. I swiftly turned away.

Soon, far too soon, Sam charged in front of us and declared, “Okay. Let’s go.” Dean gave me a final, miserable glance and followed.

“All right!” Sam shouted as soon as they’d gotten close enough to the building. “We’re here, you sons of bitches! Come and get it!”

Bobby, Castiel, and I watched a pair of demons manhandle the Winchesters through the front door. After it slammed shut we had nothing to do but wait.

Castiel walked up to me. He ran his fingers through his hair. “About last night…”

I could see Bobby’s eyebrows lifting out of the corner of my eye. “Yes?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s okay, Cass,” I told him. “You were right.” I gave him a wicked little smirk. “But I’m telling you, you missed out.”

The angel turned several shades of red before stumbling away. Bobby rolled his eyes and returned to his vigil.

Truth be told, I was still puzzling over why I’d so willingly, and easily, fallen asleep on Castiel’s shoulder. As a rule of thumb, I didn’t stay in the same bed as a man unless I absolutely had to; Sam’s motel back in Garber, for example. A woman traveling alone has to take certain precautions with strangers, even if she’s armed to the teeth. Biologically, the odds are stacked us in terms of brute strength, and the likelihood of something bad happening is just, well, horrifically astronomical. It’s why, if I was so inclined, I brought men to _my_ room (the one with the knife under the pillow) rather than the other way around.

The fact that I had not only willingly, but unconsciously let my guard down? Downright weird. Maybe he’d done something to me to make me trust him. “Hey, Cass…?”

Before I could continue a brilliant light erupted from the second floor windows across the street. Bobby and I shielded our eyes while Castiel stared straight on, his brow furrowed.

When it faded, I tentatively asked, “Is it done?”

“Almost,” the angel replied.

Soon, a different sort of light began shining through the window. It was darker, more ominous, and I could see two figures struggling near it. I assumed it was the portal to Lucifer’s Cage. The puzzling thing was that after it was gone there were _still_ two figures standing there. Then there was one. Dread shot through my veins; something had gone very, very wrong.

We waited, the three of us, our eyes locked to the doorway across the street. When Dean came through alone, his face reflecting fury and desperation rather than sorrow, we knew that the plan had failed. “Lucifer?” I asked quietly.

“Took off. I don’t know where.”

Down the block I could see people stopping in front of a pawn shop, their eyes glued to the old analog televisions that were blaring the local newscast. I hurried over to join them and heard the boys following.

Earthquakes everywhere, six figure death tolls. Tsunamis expected. Unseasonal hurricanes and tornados. “It’s starting,” Castiel said firmly.

“Yeah, you think, genius?” Dean snapped.

“You don’t have to be mean,” the angel replied petulantly.

I continued watching the disasters unfold and listened to the others with half an ear. Castiel and Bobby had given up. Dean was adamant that there had to be something, _anything_ , that they hadn’t tried yet. He stormed off after getting silence as an answer.

I was undecided about the whole thing. It wasn’t in me to fold, but what could we do about a battle between two fucking archangels? Was there a nuke bunker somewhere we could sit in until it was safe? Even if we did, what would be there to look forward to afterwards?

Dean hadn’t returned. Maybe he _did_ have an idea. I spun on my heel and jogged back towards the alleyway to find the man finishing up a phone call in the driver’s seat of his car. He got out and I asked, “Well?”

“Stull Cemetery,” he replied. “Kansas. Noon tomorrow.”

“You just don’t give up!” Bobby yelled despondently from behind me.

“It’s _Sam_!” Dean cried.

“If you couldn’t reach him here,” Castiel cautioned, “you’re certainly not going to be able to on the battlefield.”

Dean gave him a sad chuckle. “Well, if we’ve already lost, I guess I got nothin’ to lose, right?”

“I just want you to understand.” The angel’s face turned censorious. “The _only_ thing that you’re going to see out there is Michael killing your brother.”

In a quivering tone, Dean proclaimed, “Well, then I ain’t gonna let him die alone.” He then turned to me. “You ain’t comin’.”

What kind of macho shit was this? “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I need you to stay away.”

“Oh, don’t pull this shit again. You know I’m not useless, so why don’t you just shove it up your—“

“I need to know that there’s someone to come back to. I know that these two idiots are gonna follow me no matter what.”

“Then what’s to stop _me_ from—“

“If Bobby dies, if Cass dies, and if I’m somehow alive, I gotta know there’s _someone_.”

I was never going to be able to finish a sentence around this guy. “ _No_ , you can’t possibly ask me to—“

“Please!” Dean cried as he grabbed my biceps and shook me. I stared into his eyes, shocked. His voice… the amount of pain he put into that one word… “Please.”

How many loved ones had this man watched die in front of him? How much was it hurting him to know that his brother, his best friend, his father-figure would probably not make it out of this alive?

I pitied him, goddamnit, but I wasn’t some helpless, hapless maiden! There was no way I could sit around while they went off to sacrifice themselves. So I made a compromise. “Noon. Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Noon tomorrow, that’s when it’s going down, right? Then that’s how long I’ll stay away. If I don’t hear from you _one minute_ , hell, one _second_ after that hour hits I’m going.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

* * *

We left Detroit. I marked the time: 11:45:23pm. Almost twelve hours until Michael and Lucifer were scheduled to begin their giant rumble. Dean, Bobby, and Castiel headed to Kansas, I went back to Sioux Falls. I’d be lying if I said I went quietly. The filth I spat into my helmet would have killed a priest.

It was mid morning when I arrived at the salvage yard, but despite the all night drive I couldn’t sleep. I opened Bobby’s laptop to look at the news. The disasters continued piling up worldwide. More earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, a volcano erupting in Guatemala and another in Iceland. Civil unrest suddenly escalating in the Middle East and Africa. Peaceful protestors getting mowed down in China. School shooting in Utah. Mass suicide in Indonesia.

I slapped the stupid computer closed and buried my fingers in my hair. 11:38am. If they failed then the archangels’ opening salvo would probably wipe out the entire Midwest. I watched the clock in the kitchen tick and waited to be immolated.

Twelve rolled around. I grabbed my helmet and searched the sky for the blast wave. Nothing. That was good, wasn’t it? At least for the planet. But for the Winchesters, Bobby, and Castiel…

“Dean and Bobby are alive.”

“Jesus!” I turned around clobbered Castiel’s chest with my headgear. “You _stupid_ motherfucker! Ever hear of a _phone call_?”

The angel grabbed the helmet, more annoyed than injured. He tossed to it to one side. “Dean asked me to come. He is… in mourning.”

I bit my lip. “Sam did it. He threw himself and Lucifer into the Pit.”

“And Michael with him.”

I folded my arms and gripped my elbows. “What happened, exactly?”

“I am uncertain. Lucifer killed me. Upon my resurrection I found only Dean still alive. Badly beaten, but alive. Bobby was dead.”

“Wait, what?”

Castiel gave me a small smile. “God brought me back, and with my power I was able right those wrongs. I think He did it so that I may return to Heaven and help my brothers and sisters. Without Michael to lead them it will be chaos.”

“Queen is dead and the colony is fucked.” Although the thought of Michael (in Adam’s body) wearing a dress and a crown…

“An apt description.” He sighed. “We have been given the opportunity to begin to make our own choices. Not many will be… comfortable with this. I may not see any of you again for a while.”

“Oh.” For some reason I was deeply disappointed. Maybe I was just going to miss how hilariously easy it was to confound him. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said gratefully before he was abruptly gone.

Well, Apocalypse averted. I should have been happy, ecstatic even. Instead I was filled with foreboding. I didn’t know what was going to come driving up the road in that Impala. It wasn’t a question of whether or not Dean would be broken; it would be of what degree and whether or not it would be possible to put him back together.

I sat down on Bobby’s porch to wait. Inadvertently my eyes began to close. It had been a rough couple of days and with Lucifer locked away it meant that there was something to be relieved about; the world was safe another day. I lay sideways on the splintery wood, my arms servicing as pillows, and promised myself I was just going to rest for a few minutes. The two cars that were on their way weren’t exactly quiet things; even if I did sleep longer than that I was sure they’d wake me up.

Or not.

I opened bleary eyes and discovered I’d been moved to the spare bedroom. Something warm was pressed against my back and a man’s arm had been thrown casually over my waist. I turned my head… and found I was spooning with Dean fucking Winchester. I assumed he’d carried me up here found himself too tired to take the stairs back down. I’m certain he’d intended to sleep on the space beside me and had ended up in this position trying to find some source of comfort.

My first instinct was to give him a good wakeup knee to the balls. No one likes to open their eyes to an uninvited bed guest. Before I could, however, Dean gave out a whimper and squeezed me closer. “Sammy.”

I swallowed a bout of tears. Oh well, guess I could spend one night as a living teddy bear. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I woke up alone. The sun had just gotten over the horizon and I could hear Bobby and Dean quietly talking in the kitchen. More appealing than that, however, was the smell of coffee wafting upwards. I wobbled up, brushed my teeth, then headed down towards the source of that sweet, sweet caffeine.

“I’m a grown man, Bobby,” Dean was saying tiredly. I stood quietly at the bottom step. “I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t be stubborn, boy,” came Bobby’s rejoinder. “I don’t know what dumbass idea you got going through that head of yours but it ain’t nothing good.”

“I’m just going to do like he wanted. I called Lisa on the way back here and she said to come on by. I could get out, Bobby. Have a family.”

Bobby sighed. “What do _you_ want, Dean?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I think… maybe I’ll go try it. See how it fits.”

I frowned. There wasn’t a single moment in the time that I’d spent with him that I thought white picket fences and two-point-five kids were what he wanted from life. At the very least, this would be entertaining to watch. “I’m coming with,” I called as I walked into the room.

“Who asked you?” Dean snapped.

“No one. You can let me tag along or I follow you anyways. Either way I get to see Dean Winchester do something really stupid.”

Per the norm, Dean looked over at Bobby for help with my quirks. And also, per the norm, the older man gave the younger one a return look that said, “you’re on your own.” Dean threw up his hands and cried, “Fine! Whatever. But you’re paying for gas.”

“All right with me. When are we leaving?”

“Now.”

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes “Two Minutes to Midnight” (SPN 5.21) and “Swan Song” (SPN 5.22).


	8. 8

I said a temporary farewell to Bobby; I would be going with Dean in his Impala to this Lisa Braeden’s house in Illinois and then bus it back to Sioux Falls. Dean tried once again to dissuade me from going but I held my ground. I didn’t trust the man to make it all the way to Indiana without doing something stupid in-between.

Dean and Bobby had a lengthier goodbye. I’m pretty sure Bobby was trying to get him to stay, think a bit more about his decision, but no go. After that we were off.

At first it was like that trip we’d taken to Chicago. He remembered I liked Metallica and popped _Ride the Lightning_ into the tape deck. I cranked the volume and we rolled the windows down. He sped along at a good 75mph and the breeze played merry havoc with my hair. We could almost pretend we were a couple taking a road trip, not a care in the world.

In reality, we were both lost in terrible memories. I’m sure Dean was replaying the Winchesters’ greatest hits up to and including Sam’s dive into Hell. I kept seeing my baby brother. How I’d been as proud as my mother when he’d arrived, as if I’d given birth to the boy. The fact that he’d go to me, not our parents, for bandaids and kisses when he stumbled. His face as it looked on that morgue slab, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted as if he’d fallen asleep there and had forgotten his internal organs in another room.

Eventually I realized that Dean was going to keep driving until, I don’t know, he fell into the Atlantic. He’d definitely forgotten about heading to this Lisa Braeden’s home; the freeway we were on was putting us on a path south along the Mississippi. I put my hand on his and quietly suggested we stop for a few hours. “Get a shower and change clothes at least.”

“Yeah.”

We stopped outside of Des Moines and booked a room at the first place off the interstate. The only thing left had a single king-sized bed. Before Dean could use that as an excuse to get back on the road (ostensibly to find another place) I slapped down some money and snatched both the room key and the Winchester’s wrist.

Dean went unresisting. I hauled both my saddlebags and a backpack of his that contained the basics: clothes, toiletries, razor, and the hunter mainstays (salt, blade, gun). Once inside the room I practically shoved the man into the bathroom and told him to wash up or I’d come in and do it for him. _Thoroughly_ and _invasively_. I think he thought I was just being a hardass until I grabbed a washcloth and started to step inside. He pushed me out, slammed the door, and the water began to run.

Ten minutes later Dean emerged, his hair wet, wearing only jeans and a towel on his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered with socks and I speculated about underwear. I grabbed his car keys to prevent him from pulling the same crap he’d tried to do back in Blue Earth and headed in the bathroom to do my own cleanup. Just in case, I stuffed the keys into my tampon pouch; if he was anything like his brother he wouldn’t snoop through feminine hygiene products.

I came out and found Dean _exactly_ where I’d left him: sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “You need to sleep.”

“Can’t. I keep seein’ Sammy when…” He trailed off.

I slowly walked over and sat next to him. “When?” I asked gently.

“When he…” Dean swallowed and his eyes filled with tears. “He…”

I stood back up, walked between his parted legs, and wrapped my arms around his neck and head. I was short enough to put my cheek on his hair without much adjustment. After a moment I felt him begin to shake. His hands reached up to clutch my back as the first sob tore through his body.

We stood there wordlessly for I don’t know how long as Dean wept and wailed out his loss. Eventually, minutes or hours later, the storm began to abate. I kissed him gently on the top of his head, a gesture that took him by surprise. When he lifted his tear-streaked face to peer at me, confused, I leaned over and lightly touched my lips to his.

For a long, long moment we did nothing but stare into each other’s eyes. I would be lying if I said my own were dry; his grief ripped right down to my own buried agony and brought it screaming to the surface.

Dean’s hands began to gently slide upwards. When I leaned in again, mouth slightly parted, he reciprocated. We parted so that I could remove my shirt, and when I tilted us onto the bed he went unresisting.

The sex was different. I suppose it was because it wasn’t for lust or love or even just simple gratification. It was for comfort; just two messed up people trying to ease their pain with physical intimacy. We drew solace from each other, each thrust of his hips and answering move of my own adding another brick to our fragile walls.

Dean waited until I’d peaked before allowing himself to reach his own. Almost immediately afterwards he gazed down at me, the two of us breathless and naked and still tangled together, and I watched sorrow slowly return to Dean’s eyes. I drew him down to me and held him, his tears making slow paths down the skin between my breasts. We fell asleep like that, his head tucked under mine, our arms wrapped around each other, telling ourselves that tomorrow would somehow be a better day.

* * *

Lisa Braeden ended up being a petite brunette (even shorter than me) with dark skin and big brown eyes. She glanced at me curiously but most of her attention was on Dean.

He was calmer, but it was obvious he was still suffering. She whispered his name as a worried inquiry. After aborting an attempt at a smile, Dean cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Lisa said gently. “Who’s this?”

“This is… Eva. A friend,” Dean added hastily.

“Hi,” I said pleasantly and shook hands with the woman.

We walked inside. She had a perfectly normal home, complete with photos up and down the stairwell, couch set in the living room, actual dining table, the works. It made me think about that skinny little house in San Francisco I’d grown up in where everything I was now looking at had been squished together for a family of five.

“Hey,” Dean said to me. “Lise and I got some things to talk about real quick. You mind waiting…?”

“Sure.” I turned towards the door.

“You can go in the kitchen,” Lisa said amiably. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” I replied happily and strode over to the tile.

The refrigerator had beers, juice, fruit, and leftovers. I helped myself to some cold pork chops and a stout and sat myself at the dinner table.

Damn. Woman could cook. They were delicious.

I didn’t bother eavesdropping. Whatever arrangement Dean wanted to make to fulfill that stupid-ass promise of his was no business of mine. Granted I was a little disappointed that him hooking up with Lisa meant I’d be deprived of those really, really wonderful bed skills of his, but it also meant that _she_ was going to have to deal with his nightmares instead of me.

In the small hours of that morning Dean had startled me from sleep by screaming his brother’s name and squeezing my ribcage. My yelp woke him up fully and he bolted upright. He did a good deal of apologizing while his gaze wandered down from my eyes and settled on my exposed breasts. I shut him up with a kiss.

Lisa and Dean kept talking and talking. I pulled out my phone and started looking for a job. Bookmarked what looked like a ghost in Nebraska and vamps in North Dakota. Checked the bus schedules to Sioux Falls and found one that left relatively soon. Used Lisa’s stack of notepaper and a pen to jot a few things down.

I polished off the last of the meat, recycled the beer bottle, and washed my hands. When I turned around, Dean was in the doorway. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“So, um…” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m gonna stay here for a while, see how things work out. If they don’t… well, we’ll see.”

“Okay. You dropping me off?”

“Yeah. Ready to go?”

“No.” I sailed past him to where Lisa was sitting and grabbed her by the wrist. “We need to talk,” I told Dean. “Girly stuff.”

Panic washed over his face. “Look—“

I cut him off. “Shh! Just sit.” He did.

Lisa blinked at me as I dragged her to the backyard. “What?” she asked, bewildered. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not really.” I pressed a piece of paper into her hand. “This is my phone number. You call or send me a message if shit starts to go sideways, okay? If he becomes too much to handle you let me know and I’ll be here fast as possible.”

Lisa took the paper and frowned at me. “Why are you doing this? Were you two…?”

“Oh, hell no.” Well, not _really_. “If you’ve decided to deal with that six foot stack of unstable male that’s your deal. That’s too much drama for me.”

She gave a small chuckle. “I know he’s going to be messed up. I saw how close he and his brother were. It won’t be easy, but I want to try and make this work. At least for Ben’s sake.”

“Ben?”

“My son.” When my eyebrows shot up she quickly added, “Not Dean’s.”

Something the damn Winchester forgot to mention, the dick. “Okay. But don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” She gave me a hug. “Thank you, Eva.”

I think Lisa felt how badly I tensed up at the unwanted contact and backed away quickly. She led the way back inside. The smile she gave Dean after he shot up from the sofa seemed to melt the tension from his shoulders. What, did he think I was out there giving the woman Dean Winchester sex tips?

“Bus station pretty close?” I asked Lisa.

She nodded and rattled off directions to Dean. I said my goodbyes to her, he did the “I’ll be right back” thing and we were off. Ten minute drive to get on a bus for four hours. Fun.

Except ten minutes was going to extend to a hell of a lot longer if he insisted on pulling over into a random parking lot. “The fuck are you doing?” I snapped at him.

Uh oh. That combination of embarrassment and apprehension playing across his face was trouble. I knew what was coming. “Look, about last night—“

“Nope.”

“Look, I just wanna—“

“Nope.”

“Are you going to let me—“

“Nope.”

He lapsed into a sullen silence. I sighed and gave in. “Last night was last night. It was two people just… helping each other. I’m not going to hold you to anything, okay?”

For a few moments Dean was lost in thought. “All right,” he finally said. “ _Did_ you tell Lisa?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Just checking.” Dumbass. He turned the engine over and we were back on our way.

At the bus station, Dean waited until I’d bought my ticket before bidding me farewell. “Take care of yourself, Eva.”

“I won’t,” I told him with a smirk. “Tell you what, though. You get sick of this Pleasantville shit you call me and I’ll be by.”

He gave a small chuckle. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The bus driver did his last call for passengers. I grabbed Dean’s collar, pulled him down, and gave him a lengthy kiss. “Goodbye, Dean,” I whispered.

He smiled down at me and said hoarsely, “Bye, Eva.”

I boarded the bus and it pulled away. I wouldn’t see Dean again for months.

Sam, unfortunately, came back into my life a lot sooner.

* * *

I had just beheaded the last in a nest of vamps in Florida when _Crowley_ paid me a visit. “Remarkable mess,” the demon said from a far corner of the cabin.

Reflexively I pulled a knife from my boot and threw it at him. He disappeared and then reappeared right in front of me. The blade thunked into a wall and I stabbed the demon in the chest with my still bloody sword.

Crowley furiously flicked a hand and I smashed into a wall. The demon let out a string of curses and pulled out my blade, dropping it into the gore at his feet. “That bloody thing hurts!”

I pulled at the invisible bonds holding my body up against the wood. “Boohoo. I’m crying for you, really. Come here and maybe I’ll kiss it all better.”

“You see,” he said genially as he picked his way over to where I hung, “this is why I’m here. It’s obvious that we have quite the connection, all connotations included.”

I inwardly gagged but remained silent. Didn’t need to put the effort into egging him on when he seemed so much in love with his own voice. And, just as predicted, Crowley started talking again. “So. I have a little proposition for you. Something I think you’re going to love.” He stood about a foot away from me. “I’ve got myself a group of hunters doing a job for me. Problem is, they’re going a bit too slow for my liking.”

“And?”

“I’d like you to join them. I think another set of hands would be just the thing.”

This smelled all kinds of wrong. “Why the hell would I want to help _you_?”

“Few things, darling.” He held up a finger. “One, I still hold Bobby Singer’s soul, and I know just how precious the old codger is to you.”

Damn him. “And what else?”

“Two,” he said while pulling out a cell, “there’s this.”

The demon held the screen to my face. It was an oddly lit selfie, the foreground taken up primarily with the black-eyed bastard who was taking the picture. In the background, however, was a pole, and swinging from it in all her mostly naked glory was my _sister_. “You fucking bastard,” I hissed.

Crowley glanced at the screen. “I must say, your girl’s quite the athletic little whore.” He clapped the phone shut and stuffed it back in his pocket. A folded piece of paper took its place. He delicately slid it down my shirt and into my bra. “Location. Talk to a man named Samuel Campbell. He’ll be expecting you.”

I dropped to the floor the same instant he disappeared. Really was starting to loathe the fucker. I jerked the paper out of my shirt and unfolded it. Weird, it wasn’t an address; it was a set of coordinates. When I plugged them into my Blackberry it came up with a nowhere spot between Lawrence and Kansas City.

“Great,” I groaned. I was in freaking Idaho. Long ass trip ahead. Frustrated, I kicked a vamp head across the floor and shouted, “You could have at least spotted me gas money!”

* * *

A faceless someone opened the gate for me when I got to the place. From what I could see via moonlight the outside was just another ramshackle warehouse, albeit in the middle of the woods instead of next door to suburbia. A few black cars were parked outside, couple of SUVs and a truck. Through the windows at the tops of the walls a generous amount of light shone through.

I parked my Triton near the entrance and pulled off my helmet. The man who greeted me, some skinny guy with short hair and a permanent sneer, eyed me up and down with disdain. “Scrawny.”

“Look who’s talking.”

The asshole smirked and opened the door. I strode inside and gazed about. Nice enough setup. Office on one side, plenty of room for arsenal and training, big metal tables in the middle for planning and weapons maintenance.

Around one said table were seven people, including another woman. I didn’t get a good look at them other than to note how many there were. The tall one in the front was far too distracting. “ _Sam_?”

“Hey, Eva. Hear you’re joining us.”

“But… But…”

“If this is who got sent,” Sam told a balding man at the head of the table, “we’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s good.”

“All right,” baldy replied. He walked up to me and held out a hand. “Samuel Campbell.”

I shook it, vaguely registering that this was the man Crowley sent me to talk to. “Eva Chung.” My eyes hadn’t left Sam. “How the fuck—“ I cut off at the dark look I got from Samuel. It was like being glared at by my grandpa. “How is _Sam_ here?”

“I don’t know. Neither does he.”

I fumbled for my phone. “I need to make a call…”

Sam swiftly approached and put a hand on my arm. “No. Don’t tell Dean.”

“What?” Doubt and fury zinged through me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Dean needs to know you’re alive! Do you know how messed up he’s been?”

“Yeah, but that’s not our concern. He can’t get involved.”

“Wha…” _That’s not our concern?_ This couldn’t be Sam. I pulled out my sword and took a step back. “What are you?” I snarled. “Demon? Shapeshifter?”

The others raised a clamor, but the only one I paid attention to was Samuel. “Hey hey hey!” the old man cried. “I already did all that, okay? Holy water, silver, the works. It’s Sam.”

“If this is Sam then I’m a frigging Disney princess!”

“Sam” held his hands out. “Just hear me out, okay? It’s me. It’s really me. I know I sound a little different. I think… I think maybe being in Hell changed me. A lot.”

That was… plausible. Barely. I lowered my blade. “And Dean?”

“He’s better off where he’s at.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Lisa had called me a lot those first few weeks just to have a sympathetic ear. Dean was drinking too much, he spent most of his time sleeping or watching television, and he was tight-lipped regarding anything having to do with what had happened to his brother. At least he hid his proclivities from Ben and took none of his issues out on Lisa; all of Dean’s focus appeared to be on destroying only himself.

It took all of Lisa’s formidable negotiating skills to keep me from driving back to Cicero and giving the man a good whack upside the head. She insisted she could handle it, that all she needed was to have someone to vent to every once in a while. I reluctantly agreed, but told her that if Dean took one more step towards the dark side I was heading over there no matter what.

About a month and a half into his family experiment, Dean finally manned up and found a job doing construction around town. With his focus now on work and a few buddies gained through it Lisa said his mood had finally begun to swing upwards.

Lisa’s calls came maybe once a week now instead of every other day. Most of the time we just talked girl stuff; apparently before Ben the woman had had a bit of a wild streak and she was more willing to share her former conquests with me rather than the local soccer mom population. It was almost… normal. We compared notes on one night stands, she assured me that Dean was fine, and I went off to do my thing. She could still see it in his eyes, however; that feeling of emptiness that came with being unable to face such a large loss. I had to tell Lisa that, coming from personal experience, it would always be there. If she was planning on making the long haul then she would just have to find some way to deal with it.

And now here was that thing that could plug up the hole in Dean’s heart, and the fucker _didn’t want me to call his damn brother!_ “That’s horseshit and you know it,” I growled up at Sam.

He turned towards the others. “Can you excuse us for a sec?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam dragged me into the office and slammed the door. He backed me up into the desk and used every inch of his superior height to loom. “Why do you even care, Eva?”

“Why do I—“ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “ _You’re_ the one that asked me to help out at the endgame, remember? _You’re_ the one that got me involved in you and your brother’s mess!”

“And that gives you the right to—“

“Fuck, yes it does!” I shouted up at him. “You were _gone_ , Sam! Do you realize how hard it was to be there to try and put him back together?”

“I have an idea, yeah.” Sam folded his arms and stared pensively at me. “Did you fuck him?”

Yes. “None of your goddamn business.”

He laughed. “You did! No wonder! Just so you know, it didn’t mean anything. You were just one more notch on the Dean Winchester belt.”

Or he was one on mine. Despite that I was still upset. What had happened between Dean and I had been more due to shared sorrow than lust and this… _new_ Sam had no right to mock it. “Fuck you.”

Sam gave me a smirk, one that was just _unnatural_ on his lips. He leaned so far over, his hands coming to rest on either side of my hips, that I was forced to sit on the desk or be smashed. Several knickknacks and papers fell to the floor. “Just so you know,” he whispered into my ear, “Dean’s got _nothing_ on what I could show you.”

My body gave an inappropriately timed approval to both his words and the move his hips made between my legs. There was no use hiding how my breath quickened, but this wasn’t the time or place to indulge in that physical attraction I’d felt the first time we met. My hands pressed against his chest. His… annoyingly nicely sculpted chest. “Get off of me.”

“There’s no reason to be loyal,” he said as his lips began to brush down my neck. “You’re here with me and he’s off with Lisa.” Sam’s palm slid across my breast…

And the knife I kept up my sleeve poked him in the side. “Off.”

The fucker pulled back and smirked. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t incredibly turned on by the whole aggressive act, and Sam _knew_. The problem here, however, was that the man was scaring the absolute shit out of me. _This_ wasn’t Sam Winchester. This wasn’t the kind, selfless human being who’d willingly leapt into Hell to save the world. This was… I had no idea what this was.

Samuel banged on the door as I was considering actually gutting the son of a bitch. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Sam called back. “We’re good.”

I shoved Sam away from me and stood. He stumbled back a few steps as I got my unruly body back under control. In the midst of it all I pulled my phone out… and Sam smacked it away. It shattered onto the cement. “You dick!”

“You’re not calling him,” Sam said casually. “If I need to watch you 24/7 to make sure you don’t do it then that’s what’s going to happen.”

I retrieved my SIM card and glared. He opened the door and I stormed past him. “I need a new phone,” I announced.

The skinny bastard, Christian, tossed me a burner cell. “Now that that’s settled,” Samuel said authoritatively, “we’ve got a lead on some ghouls. Remember: one needs to stay alive.”

“It’s a bag and tag operation?” I asked.

“Yes. Can you handle that, little girl?”

I inwardly bristled. “Sure, why not.” After all, making me help with that was apparently why Crowley had demons feeding dollar bills into my sister’s g-string.

“Good. Let’s go.”

* * *

The Campbells were made up of seven cousins, uncles, whatevers, who went in and out with other hunters, friends of friends that they brought in when necessary but who never stayed beyond the job at hand. There were a few exceptions, including Gwen Campbell, Samuel’s niece, a woman with at least ten years on me and a fantastically bitchy attitude. She bristled at the overprotectiveness her uncle showed her, constantly insisting that she was tough enough and good enough not to be coddled. If Samuel tried to do the same to me, however, I straight up ignored him. I think he admired the quiet sass I gave him as opposed to the vocal harangues Gwen employed.

Samuel and I got along fine, to be honest. I gave him the same respect I would have given my own father and he gave me the same distant affection I would have expected in return. It made us both feel better, I think, to have someone back in our lives that filled in the gaping hole left by unexpected loss. We were comfortable together, and found ourselves electing to stay behind sometimes in order to just quietly enjoy each others’ company.

There was also the matter of Crowley.

About a week in, while most of the others were off chasing one thing or another, Samuel and I were doing research when the demon decided to make a house call. “Evening.”

“Get out,” Samuel snarled.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Crowley said with a sigh, “I’m not quite… in.”

It was true; Samuel had devil’s traps scrawled just about everywhere. Crowley was avoiding being snagged by being right outside the warehouse door. “You’re still on my property,” Samuel corrected. “Leave.”

“No can do. I need to check on my investments.” Crowley looked at me. I bristled, then lifted my eyebrows when he shifted his gaze to Samuel. “All of them.”

“We’re doing what we can,” the old man snapped. “It’s not as if you’re giving us a whole hell of a lot of help.”

“Yes, well, giving you a ‘hell of a lot of help’ is quite difficult when you’re dealing with actual Hell.”

“Aw, poor baby,” I interrupted. “Some dickwad trying to dethrone the King of the Crossroads?”

“King of Hell, actually.”

Both of us blinked at the demon. “What?”

“I’ve been inhabiting the corner office since Lucifer was put back in his little box.“ He gave a self-deprecating little wave. “No need to congratulate me. It’s a fair amount of work keeping those buggers in line. Which brings me to why I’m here.”

The demon snapped his fingers and cracks sliced their way across the devil’s traps above and below the doorway. Between one moment and the next I found myself pinned against the wall, my feet dangling and Crowley’s fingers wrapped around my neck. I heard Samuel’s chair scrape against the floor. “Let her go!” he barked.

“First things first.” I saw stars as Crowley tightened his grip. “We had an agreement, Samuel. You do what I say and I bring your daughter back.“

“I’m doing my best.”

“Do _better_. I might have forever but you certainly do not. And _you_ , darling.” The demon loosened his fingers and I sucked in as much air as I could. “You forget that I have your sister under watch?”

“No,” I told him through gritted teeth. “But feel free to fuck with her. It’ll give me the excuse to find some way of gutting you.”

Crowley sighed. “Knew I should have started with the carrot.” He dropped me. I landed heavily on my heels and began to cough. “How about we change the terms. You get your ass in gear and I’ll give you what you’ve been looking for all this time. Louie Lee.”

I blanched. Louie Lee. The vampire who had lured me into his arms… who had… _done things_ to me. The beast that had left me physically and emotionally scarred, perhaps beyond repair. “You have him?”

A knowing smirk twisted Crowley’s lips. Then it was gone. “No. Haven’t the foggiest idea where he’s at. However, I _do_ know the blood sucking bloke that does. All _you_ have to do is get him for me.”

“Who?”

“The Alpha Vampire.”

“The what?”

“Impossible!” Samuel snapped.

“You two get me the Alpha,” Crowley continued as he reached out to finger a lock of my hair, “and I’ll get him to sing.” He leaned in, his lips close to mine as he murmured, “Deal?”

Fear had my heart racing. I had no intention of formally sealing a deal with this thing, inadvertently or not. I moved as far back as I could which, since I was backed up against the wall, wasn’t a noticeable distance. “Fine,” I whispered.

“Good,” he replied and was gone.

I let loose the breath I’d been holding and pressed the heels of my palms onto my eyes. Memories washed over me of Louie’s smile, the feel of his lips, how incredulous I’d been that someone so beautiful had taken notice of me, how it felt when his whip cracked across my back…

Samuel gently put a hand on my shoulder and I went ballistic, screaming and flailing in panic. “Hey hey hey!” he shouted. “It’s okay,” he said in a calmer, quieter tone. “It’s just me.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

He folded me into a hug for a few, brief seconds. When we separated, Samuel said, “I think it’s best we keep each other’s secrets.”

About Crowley holding our leashes? Probably a good idea. I couldn’t imagine any of the others taking the fact that we were following a _demon’s_ orders very well. “Yeah.”

It would all come back and bite us in the ass anyways. Maybe we should have just come clean with it in the first place. Maybe coming clean would have caused the others to abandon us. No use speculating on what might have been when _had_ been is now indelibly etched into my nightmares.

* * *


	9. 9

 

By unspoken mutual agreement, Samuel and I never brought up our shared demonic issue again. He continued as he always had, researching and hunting and cursing at modern technology. It was endearing, somewhat, especially since Samuel was acting like the octogenarian he would have been if he’d lived.

I, however, became obsessed with finding the Alpha, so much so that I was hunting nearly 24/7. Talk of a vampire? I was there. Mere whisper, rumor, hint of a fang? I was there. I was in Boston and it was in San Diego? Hell, I’d drive for three days straight. It got to the point where Samuel asked _Sam_ to start going with me in order to reign _me_ in.

As it was I lost sight of the bigger picture. I wanted an Alpha. I wanted _my_ revenge. To be able to bury my hands in Louie Lee’s chest and play with his squishy bits was everything. And I ended up fucked, both figuratively and literally.

* * *

It fell apart maybe two weeks after Crowley had paid us a visit. Sam, Samuel, and I were all going after a vampire that _supposedly_ had direct ties to the Alpha. Now keep in mind: I was a vampire specialist. It was a bloodsucker that had come in and wrecked my life and it was bloodsuckers I killed most often. The only other hunter I knew of who managed to rack up more vamp kills than I did was a guy named Gordon Walker. Last I heard he was dead.

The point is this: I was used to going straight for the beheading, none of this capture crap. It made it ten times harder to do the job and it made it ten times _easier_ to fuck it up. Which is why when I ended up cornered by the son of a bitch we’d been tracking I went for the kill instead of the cripple.

Sam and Samuel found me standing over the corpse in the warehouse it had led us to. Samuel was understanding at least; he guessed rightly what had happened. It was a setback, but it didn’t put us really too much farther from where we’d been. There had been no guarantees the vamp had known about the Alpha; all we had regarding the validity of that claim was conjecture. The older man clapped me on the shoulder and just said we’d get the next one.

Sam didn’t say a thing.

Back at the motel, Samuel headed for his own room and I headed for mine. Sam followed me. I slammed the door in front of him hoping he’d get the hint, but, of course, he didn’t. “What the fuck, Eva?”

I threw my boots at him. “Get out.”

“You just couldn’t hold back one fucking time!” he shouted. “If you weren’t so stupid we would be one step closer to getting the Alpha Vamp.”

“Yeah, _one_ step!” I yelled up at him, one finger extended. I nearly rammed it up his nose. “ _One!_ I’m not letting myself get maimed for _one fucking step_.”

“You weren’t in any danger,” he scoffed. “All you had to do was push the bastard and you would’ve been fine. Instead you go and shit on all the work we did the past day and a half!”

Sam‘s theory on what I should have done barely stepped over into the realm of possibility; he knew (or at least he _should_ have known) that split second decisions involving murderous monsters always led to killing them rather than risk another human death. “Go fuck yourself, Sam.”

“Yeah? How about you don’t be such a _dumb bitch_ next time?”

I’d punched him in the chin before even realizing that my fist was clenched. He rubbed his face and shot that unnatural smirk down at me.

My next swing Sam dodged. He grabbed my arm as he twisted away. I ended up with my back crushed against his chest, my limb held tight against my front. My free elbow jabbed backwards. Sam let out a grunt and released me.

I thought we were done at that point and marched for the door. As soon as I opened it he slammed it shut. I turned around and popped my knee up. That tree trunk of a leg of his moved to block it.

My knuckles landed square on his cheek, but he grabbed the next two followups, pressed me back, and wrenched my wrists up above my head. “You done?” he snarled at me nose-to-nose after spitting a gob of blood onto the floor.

“Not even close.” I lifted my legs, quickly wrapped them around his waist, leaned into his face… and clamped down with my teeth. Sam roared in outrage but couldn’t dislodge me without ripping his lip off. He let my arms go, probably to push me off, and I grabbed two handfuls of his hair.

We careened off of the dresser and smashed into the flatscreen. In one of those moves that always seems too fast for his size, Sam twisted around and fell to the bed on top of me. I felt him wrench open my jeans, one button popping off and flying who knows where. Before I could figure out what he was up to I had to release his skin to draw in a gasp; he’d managed to shove a hand down between my legs, into my underwear, and slide a finger straight into me.

This was the first intimate contact I’d had with the man. Not even so much as a kiss before this point. It wasn’t to say that I wasn’t attracted to him, especially with Sam’s post-Hell habit of working out every chance he got. The problem was his attitude: the selfishness, the lies, the newfound sociopathy. I would eventually discover the why of it all, but in the meantime all I knew was that Hell had turned him into a tremendous asshole.

There was no way I wanted to be in this situation with New Sam, but, goddamn, the man knew how to manipulate a woman. My back arched even as I pushed at his hand and his chest. He leaned over and pushed his lips onto mine. I opened my mouth. Our tongues danced as my eyes rolled back into my head, my entire body singing with sensation.

His hand, wet from his ministrations, pulled up and slid across my clit. Our lips parted and I let out a cry. With one hand Sam wrenched my pants and underwear down my hips to tangle around my knees. When I took the opportunity to swing a fist he grabbed it and pulled it across my body.

My legs were trapped in my pants, my arms were pinned, and Sam was unbuckling his belt. He yanked my bottoms off the rest of the way. I kicked out wildly only to have him grab my ankles, spread my legs, and pull me towards him.

As he reached down to manipulate the head of his cock to my entrance I gave his chest a few weak smacks with the sides of my fists. “You done?” Sam whispered hoarsely as he slid himself inside me.

“No,” I moaned, whether in answer to his question or to deny my consent I wasn’t quite certain.

The rest was hard, lengthy, and just this side of _wrong_. The two of us battled for dominance the entire time. I’d roll myself on top and ride him for a bit, he’d grab my arms and flip us back over. By the end of it we were both bruised, bleeding (Sam was at least; I’d ripped my nails up his back at one point), and infuriatingly gratified.

He let his weight settle on me as we caught our breath. As soon as he was steady, Sam pushed himself up and headed for the bathroom to clean up. My shirt was ruined; at one point he’d simply tore it down the neckline. I’d retaliated in kind. He tossed his rag to bathroom floor, mine I hurled to the other side of the room. My lips twisted in disgust as I saw the blue and purple fingerprints developing on my forearms. That motherfucker.

Sam came out and narrowed his eyes at me. We stared at each other silently, still furious. He turned on his heel and left the room. I vented the rest of my feelings by taking a blade from my bag and throwing it into the door where his head had been a moment before.

* * *

That wouldn’t be the last time we’d fuck in anger. I was too emotionally crippled to respond in other ways and Sam… well, New Sam had no real emotions to begin with.

Eventually he came to the realization that I was a conveniently available female body. Sam had picked up the habit of calling escorts whenever we stayed more than a day in a larger town. I know now that it was because he wanted the relief without the emotional baggage, but at the time I just thought it was gross and pathetic. In any case, the prostitutes cost money; I submitted with varying degrees of fuss depending on how pissed we were with each other.

The sex was… varying. Sometimes we’d break the room, knocking down furniture, pounding into the walls, leaving fluids on tables. Other times the sex was almost gentle, a mockery of lovemaking, with every stroke and gentle kiss nothing more than means to an end.

I enjoyed myself quite a bit, I’ll admit it. Sam was in peak physical shape, healthily endowed, and never lacking in stamina. In fact, I endured it better when it was rough. At least those times I could say it was “angry” sex and my heart was completely uninvolved. It was those soft nights that broke me down.

The contrast between his near-reverent touches and his pragmatic demeanor left me in turmoil. I could pretend that Sam and I were some normal couple (attachments, commitments, and all) while he was inside me, but once he had accomplished his end the illusion shattered. He’d wait until his heart slowed, get up, and, more often than not, leave to do… whatever it was he did. And I would be left to try and grasp what the fuck just happened.

After one such night, some five months after Crowley’s visit, I finally let myself cry. Futile leads to the Alpha Vampire, little sleep, and Sam’s bewildering mannerisms had me twisted into a tight, anxious knot. As soon as he let the door shut I curled into a tight ball wept.

I let loose hoping to get this surge of emotion over and done with. I certainly wasn’t expecting someone to gather me up in their arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his cheek resting against my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“Castiel?” The feel of the angel’s trench coat beneath my fingers was shockingly familiar.

“Yes.”

I drew away. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked as I covered myself with the sheet.

“I… um…” Both my nudity and my question seemed to have flustered him.

“No, seriously.”

Castiel gave a lugubrious sigh. “I saw… I knew you were in distress.”

“How?”

“I’ve healed you from death. It causes… a sort of a bond.”

In retrospect, the lie that fell from the angel’s lips should have been obvious. I’d learn he’d been spying on all of us for a good long time with the best of misguided intentions. At the time, however, I was too naive to take it as anything but the truth.

“Oh. Okay.” I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m fine now. You can go.”

“Are you hurt?”

Physically? No. If anything I was incredibly, sexually satisfied. Emotionally? “Nothing you can fix.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

He sounded guilty. I assumed it was for being unable to fix my dilemma. Of course, like a lot of things during this time, it was for something else entirely. “Don’t be. But thank you, Cass, just for coming.”

I gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. The angel was flustered by the gesture, the skin I’d just marked reddening. A rush of wings later and he was gone.

Castiel’s visit bolstered my confidence. I’d been wallowing in loathing over my failure to either resist Sam’s advances or find the Alpha. It was time to bring someone else into the mix, someone who could maybe take one of those issues off my hands.

It was time to go see Dean.

* * *

Why hadn’t I gone weeks or months before? To be honest, like everyone else, I had convinced myself that Dean was better off where he was at. Bobby had made it clear: Dean’s reprieve from hunting was a godsend. He had a family, a woman he loved (although I still question the validity of this), and peace. Unlike the rest of us, Dean might actually die at the ripe old age of 85 from something mundane and stupid like a heart attack or a stroke rather than having been eviscerated or exsanguinated or any of a number of horrifically bloody events.

Sam, too, claimed the same, but after being in his bed for almost half a year I knew better. The man lied as easily as he breathed. Whatever Sam’s reasons for keeping Dean out of our lives they had nothing to do with concern for his brother’s welfare.

I was… well, I was also deeply ashamed. In my opinion this whole situation with Sam was my own damn fault. How could I possibly explain to anyone that a big, tough hunter like me let herself get fucked stupid every night by some asshole? I didn’t want the coddling or the pity that would ensue, but I couldn’t see any other options.

I got dressed right after Cass left, road leathers and all. We were in Michigan and it would take me several hours to get to Cicero. I’d hopefully land on Lisa’s doorstep sometime early in the morning. I pulled out from the parking lot in a rush, helmet on and Beethoven’s 9th blasting, and headed south.

The doubts didn’t start screaming until I spotted Lisa’s driveway. I slowed my bike and took off my helmet so I could think. This was stupid. Bobby’s opinions against disrupting Dean’s new, idyllic life kept echoing in my head. Who was I to make him responsible for his brother’s shitty attitude? I needed to get myself some balls and handle this myself.

Of course, the moment I decided to go is when Dean strolled out the front door on his way to work. He stopped short at the sight of me, gaping like he’d seen a ghost. I sighed resignedly and waited for him to approach. “Dean.”

“Eva? What the hell are you doin’ here?”

To tell or not to tell? I knew the second Sam’s name dropped from my mouth everything would change. The last thing I wanted to become was the catalyst that would destroy the life Lisa and Dean had built together. “Never mind,” I mumbled as I started to jam my helmet back on.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Dean growled. He smacked my headgear out of my hands. “I can’t think of a good reason why you’re here other than something being really fucking wrong. So either you tell me, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

He hadn’t been hunting; Lisa had told me that much at least. It didn’t mean he was any smaller or any less dangerous. Still, I could have stepped away. But when I looked into his eyes, that shade of green and hazel so like his brother’s, I was forced to swallow back tears. “This was stupid,” I whispered. “I need to go.”

“Eva,” Dean sighed. “At least come in and rest for a bit. I’m bettin’ you were driving all night. You got that look.”

Reluctantly, I followed him into Lisa’s home. She gave a surprised query upon seeing him return and, after seeing me, blurted out an obscenity. “Holy shit! Eva?” The woman gave me a hug. “It’s been so long! How have you been?”

I resisted telling her the truth. Instead, I forced myself to smile. “Just tired. Wanted to check in.”

She turned to Dean. “Don’t you need to go to work?”

“Ed can handle it,” he said. “I’ll call. Be right back.”

He left us standing awkwardly in the foyer. I wasn’t lying; I was dead on my feet. Lisa shook her head at me when I started swaying and began leading me into the kitchen. “At least let me get some coffee in you.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I sat at their dining table.

It took me a bit to realize we had company. The tween swallowed his cereal before asking. “Who’re you?”

“Friend of Dean’s,” I told him. “Just came by to say hello.”

“What’s your name?”

Curious little shit. “Eva. And you must be Ben.”

“Yup.”

I could see Lisa had been telling the truth about his parentage; there was very, very little resemblance to Dean in this slightly portly child. “Nice to meet you, I guess.” He was about the same age my brother had been…

“Dean’s talking about leaving. It’s your fault, isn’t it?”

“Ben!” Lisa hissed as she put coffee, creamer, and sugar in front of me.

“Probably.” Most definitely. I dumped a bunch of everything into my drink and began to sip.

“Can you change his mind?”

Poor kid. He must have gotten really attached to Dean these past few months. “It’s not my mind to change. But if he does go, I’ll do my best to make sure he comes back.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Lisa hauled her son up by the elbow. “C’mon, kiddo. You take any longer and you’ll miss the bus.”

Ben gave the expected grumpy answers before kissing his mother on the cheek. He passed Dean on his way out, and the affectionate smile the man gave the boy made me feel even more terrible. “We’re good,” Dean told Lisa. “Can you give us a bit?”

Lisa glanced unhappily between me and him. I could understand why; despite my denials to the contrary Dean certainly acted as if there had been something between us. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a kiss, which softened her expression a bit, before gesturing at me to follow him. I gave Lisa an apologetic grimace before complying.

Dean led me to the garage where his Chevy was sitting covered carefully with a large tarp. “Well?” he asked as he settled on the hood.

I sighed and started pacing. “I thought I needed help.”

“With?”

 _Your dickhead of a brother._ No, couldn’t tell him that. “It’s not a big deal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Eva, you look like shit.” Thanks. “Was it a hunt gone bad? Do you need help takin’ something down?”

“I would never.”

“Why not?” Dean seemed honestly perplexed.

“Because you’re out! Why would I want to mess that up?”

“I’m still here. I didn’t vanish off of the face of the Earth.”

“Look, they told me to leave you be!” I was getting exasperated with his cavalier attitude. “You’ve got Lisa and Ben and this whole white-fucking-picket fence life! They all said you were happy, better off where you were, and that you don’t get to die bloody like the rest of us.”

Dean shook his head and wiped a hand down his face. “Maybe. Maybe not. And who’s ‘they’?”

Ah, crap. “You know. Bobby.”

“That’s a ‘him’ not a ‘they’.”

I sat down on the hood and stared despondently at the floor. Time to let some of it go. ”Crowley found me. He wanted me to help out these guys he’s got working for him. He dumped me with a family of hunters. _Your_ family.”

“That’s impossible. All our family’s dead.”

“Not on your mother’s side.”

“Wait.” Dean sat there for a bit, grasping for words. “You tellin’ me that there are _Campbells_ still out there hunting? And they’re willingly being Crowley’s bitches?”

“Sort of.”

“What the shit, Eva?” he cried as he leapt to his feet. He loomed over me and folded his arms. “Why wouldn’t you tell me something so fucking important?”

“Because Sam told me not to, okay?” I shouted.

Dean paled. “What?”

Oh, fuck me and my big mouth. I looked away. “Sam’s alive.”

He sat heavily back down on the hood of his car. “How?” he whispered.

“Dunno.”

I gave Dean some time to digest the information. After a minute or so the shock of it wore off and joy lit up his face. “Well, shit! Let’s go.”

“Go?” Dean was beginning to uncover his car. I stopped him by slapping down the canvas. “Go where?”

“Where do you think? To see Sam!”

“No!”

“Well, why the hell not?”

Dean’s euphoria was melting into anger. I’m sure a lot of it was him figuring out that my insistence on _not_ going meant that something was wrong. Well, no use sugar coating it now. “Your brother isn’t right.”

“He just got out of Hell, Eva. Of course he ain’t right!”

“Not ‘just’.” Time for the first bomb to drop. “Almost a year.”

Dean stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“He’s been topside for _almost a year_.”

“Are you—“ He ran his hand down his face. “You telling me that my brother has been back from Hell for a fucking _year_ and he never came to see me?”

“Yes.”

Dean stepped up and snarled in my face, “And _you_ couldn’t tell me?”

I folded my arms and gritted my teeth. “Your brother didn’t want me to.”

“Bullshit! There’s no fucking way Sammy would have gotten out of Hell and _not_ come to see me.” His furious glower deepened. “Did _you_ do something? Was this some kind of jealousy thing? You told me you weren’t gonna hold me to anything that happened that night!”

“Fuck you, Dean.” All right, I’d had enough of this emotional swing. Time to get off. I shoved Dean out of the way and walked over to the other side of the garage.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and willed the tears back. After a few minutes, Dean sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I don’t know.”

”Sam didn’t want you around.” I kept my face to the darkness, my hands tightly gripping the opposite elbows as I continued stomping down on the waterworks. “I don’t know why. He never told me.

My shoulders slumped. A few treacherous tears slipped down my cheeks. Dean walked up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

I shrugged it off and gave an indelicate sniff. “Let’s just make a plan before we go anywhere.”

* * *

Lisa was understandably perturbed to be excluded from our conversation, but when Dean blurted out that his brother was _alive_ she left us alone. I’m certain that she was sitting at the top of the stairwell listening in even though Dean made it clear that there was nothing she needed to worry about.

“We were in Michigan when I bailed,” I told Dean after we’d sat at the dinner table and popped open some beers. “Even if Sam figured out I was heading here it’ll take him some time.”

“Good.” He took a swallow. “So explain to me _exactly_ how Sam’s different. Then we can figure out how to handle this.”

I took a long pull from my bottle before answering. “It’s like his heart is gone. No one matters to him. People in his way are collateral instead of victims to be rescued. Dean, I watched him _shoot a woman_ because the thing that took her tried to use her as a hostage.”

“The fuck…” He stared off in the distance. “That don’t sound like Sammy at all. You sure he ain’t a shifter or a demon?”

I shook my head. “Did all the tests. It’s Sam’s _body_ at least.”

“What did Cass say?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to ask,” I said irritably.

“Maybe we should talk to him first?”

“He’s _busy_.” Doing what, I had no idea. ”Look, even Bobby thinks you shouldn’t get involved with anything anymore. You’ve done enough.”

Dean leaned back and folded his arms. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, my ass.” I plunked my empty bottle down. “Look, are you happy?”

“I dunno. Kind of. I… I mean, yeah. I am. But it’s _Sam_ , Eva. If something’s wrong then I need to know what!”

“If you’re happy you need to stay. I’ll go find out.” There really wasn’t another choice. I knew Lisa was content with the way their life was going and I couldn’t bear to be the harbinger of their separation.

“I can’t ask you do that,” Dean said quietly.

“You’re not. I’m telling you what I’m going to go do. When I find out, I’ll call.”

“Dean.”

We both turned at Lisa’s quiet inquiry. I _knew_ she was listening. “Lise?” Dean asked apprehensively.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah.” Lisa turned away and Dean chugged down the rest of his beer. “Worst three words for any guy to hear,” he muttered as he left the room.

I contemplated the bottom of my bottle as the two of them headed upstairs to converse. Should I tell Dean that Sam and I slept together? Why should he even care about that anyways? Not as if we were a couple. Just sex. Room destroying, emotionally devastating sex.

Shit. I hadn’t even told him that the Campbells I’d mentioned were centered around his resurrected _grandfather_. This was just getting more and more complicated. Damnit, coming here had been a mistake. Best thing to do would be to leave. With luck Sam would be charging this way and we’d miss each other in between.

I snuck towards the door, but as I opened it I heard the thumps of someone hurrying down the stairs. So much for my quiet getaway. “The hell you goin’?”

I lifted my arms and let them drop. “Nowhere, apparently.” When I looked over there was a weirdly boyish grin on Dean’s face. “What?”

“Time to let Baby out of her playpen,” he said eagerly as he hurried by me.

“Is that a euphemism for your car?” I called after him. “It’s really disturbing!”

* * *

Turns out that Dean and Lisa had decided to try to make it work, with her at home and him on the road hunting. I suppose if there were any other hunter/civilian couples out there they dealt with the same sort of issues. Not something I could have handled on either end but that’s just me.

Lisa agreed to watch my bike and I hopped into the Impala. We decided to hit Bobby’s first. Figured it was time to let him in on this whole mess. Dean was so hyped up about driving the Chevy again that I didn’t argue about sharing the labor. After the last twelve hours all I wanted to do was sleep.

When I woke up it was dawn and we were bumping our way down the dirt road into the Singer Salvage Yard. Bobby was, of course, already awake and the first thing Dean did was ask whether or not he knew Sam had been running about for a year. When Bobby confirmed that he had, the two ripped into each other about whether or not concealing the fact had been the right thing to do. I let them have their spat and went to make coffee.

Bobby took my tale of Sam’s new personality with a surprising amount of calm. Again, I left out my issues. Did my best to make it sound like the entirety of the story was that I’d gotten blackmailed into helping the Campbells and that Sam 2.0 was freaking me the fuck out. “What do you think he is?”

“Hell if I know,” Bobby said with a shrug. “If he not reacting to the usual stuff then maybe it’s something new.”

“There ain’t no such thing as ‘something new’,” Dean refuted.

“Well, then what did Cass say?”

“He’s not some kind of angelic Google,” I said irritably.

“Could try to contact him anyways,” Dean said, “see if he could spare a couple minutes.”

“How?” I wondered.

The pair glanced at one another, confused. “How you normally do it,” said Dean.

“Which is?”

“Prayer,” Bobby answered. “Ain’t that how you’ve been getting ahold of him all this time?”

“No, Cass just… drops in randomly.” They exchanged looks again. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just the only person he used to do that to was Dean.”

Maybe I’d exposed myself to the angel one too many times. Karma coming back to bite me in the ass. “Okay, so. Prayer.” I wracked my brain. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray for Castiel to come and hear me peep.”

“Nice,” Dean commented.

“Shut up. Hey, Cass.”

“Hello,” the angel said from behind the elder Winchester.

“Did you know about Sam?” Dean demanded as he swiveled around.

“Yes.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The argument that followed was parallel to the one that Dean and Bobby had. Dean was still pissed about not being told his brother was alive while Castiel was irritated that his friend didn’t appreciate that the angel had taken a break from a civil war to help us out. I took the time to refill my coffee.

“Civil war?” I asked as I came back in.

The angel nodded. “The archangel Raphael wishes to rule Heaven and return to our original path towards the Apocalypse. I am trying to prevent it.”

“And that excuses you not takin’ five minutes to tell me about Sam?” Dean snapped.

“Dean,” Castiel said angrily, “my ‘people skills’—“ the angel waggled two fingers on each side of his head, “—are ‘rusty’.” That wasn’t the right place to do that. “Pardon me, but I have spent the last ‘year’—“ I’m not sure who taught Cass how to use air quotes but they didn’t do a good job, “—as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. I don’t know who brought Sam back and I don’t know why he is acting ‘wrong’.” He got the last one right at least. “If I had answers I would give them.”

“Then figure out how to fix him!” Dean demanded. “Cass, he went to _Hell_ for us, remember? We owe him.”

“Ask Crowley,” I suggested.

“Excuse me?” Bobby asked indignantly.

“He’s the King of Hell. Shouldn’t he know what’s going down in his little Kingdom of the Damned?”

“King of _Hell_?” Dean repeated incredulously. He looked at Castiel. “Please don’t tell me that someone put Crowley in fucking charge.” The angel didn’t answer. “Well?”

“You didn’t want to be told.”

Exasperated, Dean palmed his face. “Forget it.” He turned to me. “You said he was in Michigan?”

“Wendigo hunt, yeah.”

“You call him from Bobby’s phone, tell him you’re sorry or something. Ask him to meet you here.”

Bobby nodded approvingly. “We got everything here to retest. If nothin’ else we can lock him up downstairs until we figure it out.”

“Ugh, fine!” I groaned. “God, I hate being bait.”

I went over to Bobby’s wall of phones and picked up the one that wasn’t cover for some agency. Sam didn’t pick up the first time I called, but the second time he answered with a belligerent, “Bobby? What?”

“Rude.”

“Oh. Eva. Figures that’s where you’d go.”

I took a moment to gather myself before responding. It wouldn’t do our plan any favors if I cussed him out and hung up. “Look, Sam. We need to talk.”

“What for?”

“You know.”

Sam gave an irritated sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Without answering, I banged the phone down on the receiver and swiped nearly everything else that was on the desk straight to the floor. Bobby let out a “Hey!” in response to my callous treatment of his belongings. My fingers gripped my hair as I paced for a minute and tried to get my fury under control.

I’m sure Dean meant to be comforting when he put his hand on my arm. The fist I plunged into his stomach was far more therapeutic. “That’s for making me call your fucking asshole of a brother.” I left him bent over and groaning and stormed out the front door.

Bobby followed me. “You wanna tell me now what all that was about?”

“What was what all about?”

“You makin’ a mess and punching Dean.”

This really wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with _Bobby_ of all people. The man had acted like a father, or at least a close uncle, ever since he’d rescued me. He didn’t need to hear about me and Sam and our naked shenanigans. “Just stress.”

“I suppose,” he said, clearly not believing me. “Anyhoo, I’m gonna make sure Dean ain’t puking on my carpet. You take as much time as you need to cool down, y’hear?”

“Yeah.”

Bobby headed back to the house and I went to the clearing where Castiel and I had sparred all those months ago. The detritus had returned, but it was still nice and isolated. I spent a good hour just leaning against a tree with my eyes closed, my fingers tapping against the ground as I played Chopin on an imaginary piano. Music had always been my source of zen, but it wasn’t as if I could haul a keyboard around on a motorcycle.

By the time I was down to non-homicidal levels the sun was dropping. I headed back to the house and offered to get food as a peace offering. We had to-go diner meals (burger for Dean, meatloaf for Bobby, BLT for me), went over our plans for Sam, and said good night.

I woke with the dawn, Dean shortly afterwards. He scrambled some eggs, I made coffee, and when a grumpy Bobby stumbled in the three of us ate. As Dean was tipping our dishes into the sink he looked out the window and stiffened. “What kind of douchemobile is that?”

I stood beside him. “Dodge Charger. Older model.” Hey, my brother had been obsessed with cars. I remembered a thing or two.

“Whatever. We ready?”

Bobby nodded before walking out the front door. I took up my position and Dean took his.

Sam walked in to see me sitting on the stairs, a faux scowl on my face. He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

“Because I missed you _so_ much.”

Unsurprisingly (at least to me), Sam waltzed right through the devil’s trap Bobby had sketched above the door. He stopped in front of me and loomed threateningly, arms crossed. I was sitting on the third step and his height made the gesture rather intimidating. “Why the hell did you leave?”

“You know why,” I replied quietly.

Sam barked out a derisive laugh. “What, were you mad about me taking off? Wanted to cuddle? Talk about our feelings? Don’t be such a needy slut.”

“Oh, fuck you!” I leapt to my feet and stabbed a finger into Sam’s chest. Several months worth of pent-up anger spilled over. “You made it pretty goddamn clear what you wanted. I was a nearby body to fuck and you got it whenever, didn’t you? Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t just stake me down to a bed with my legs spread!”

“Why would I do that?” he replied, that vicious little twist on his lips. “You’re so much more fun to fuck when you fight back.”

Before I could retaliate, Dean slammed the door closed, announced, “Hiya, Sammy!” and punched his astonished brother on the jaw.

Sam’s back slammed onto the floor. Seeing that he was still conscious, Dean straddled his chest and gave him several good whacks to the face.

Once his brother was out, Dean stood up and stared at me. Through my peripheral I could see Bobby doing the same. I turned around without speaking and hurried up the stairs to the spare bedroom. After banging the door shut I sat down on the ground with my back against the mattress and my arms on top of my knees.

Bobby and Dean busied themselves with tying up Sam and locking him in the panic room. I stayed where I was. The plan had been to expose Sam’s new nature with the hope that something he’d say would have given some clue as to what he was. Initially I’d planned on directing the conversation to the bag and tag operation with the Campbells. Thanks, Sam, for pushing the wrong buttons and derailing everything.

A soft knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts. “Eva?”

“Fuck off,” I called.

Dean didn’t bother following instructions and cautiously creaked open the door. “I’m coming in.”

Maybe if I ignored him he’d get the hint. I lay the side of my head on my arms and closed my eyes. Being the stubborn dumbass that he is, Dean just sat down beside me. When the silence became too much to bear, I finally said, “In most cases, ‘fuck off’ means ‘go away’.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” He sighed. “I gotta ask. Were you… Did he…?”

“No,” I said, annoyed. Didn’t need to add any more fuel to this fire.

Dean shifted, clearly uncomfortable with this whole line of questioning. “Okay. But were you two…? I mean, was it like a relationship or something?”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend and holding hands and shit?” I huffed out a small laugh. “It was just sex.”

“Didn’t sound like it.”

I shrugged. “It’s my fault for giving in that first time. I made my bed and I ran from it. End of story.”

Dean leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “You know, I’d kept up this hope that maybe you were wrong, or that maybe things weren’t as bad as you made them out to be. But listening to him down there… Sammy’s never said that sort of shit to a girl. _Never_.” He closed his eyes. “Bobby did the holy water, salt, silver knife tests. Nothing. Even took his damn temperature and looked for fangs.”

“Told you.”

“I know you don’t want us bothering Cass, but we’re out of options.”

“Okay.”

Dean wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I stiffened. “I know Sam’s not gonna say it anytime soon, so I’m gonna say it for him. I’m sorry, Eva.”

I closed my eyes and finally let the tears fall. At least part of this nightmare was over.

* * *

Castiel couldn’t come right away, understandably, so we waited impatiently in Bobby’s study. The three of us pored through various texts looking for clues to Sam’s behavior and came up with squat. After a while, Sam woke up and his indignant yells echoed up from the basement stairwell.

“Not it,” I claimed. Bobby echoed me.

“Fine,” Dean groused. He plopped down the book he’d been not really reading and headed downstairs.

Dean’s somewhat anxious and Sam’s pleading tones drifted to us. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Bobby started to say. “Are you—“

“I swear if you ask me if I’m okay I will burn this book.”

Bobby took a moment or two to unclog his panic before croaking out, “Just checking.”

“ _Cass_?” Dean suddenly shouted from down below. “What the fuck— _Bobby_!”

The two of us shot to our feet and raced to the basement. Dean was swinging the metal door open and allowed Sam’s screams to fly out unfiltered. The three of us came to a bewildered halt upon seeing what Castiel was doing: his hand was deep _inside_ of Sam’s belly, no gore or fluids in sight, making a weird glow illuminate branches of blood vessels going up the man’s neck.

A long thirty seconds passed while we waited for the angel to finish whatever it was he was doing. He was concentrating intensely and none of us wanted to be the peripheral cause of Sam’s evisceration. Eventually, slowly, Castiel withdrew his arm and left Sam panting and hurling curses at the same time. As Bobby hurried over to see to his brother, Dean demanded, “What the fuck, Cass?”

“I needed to check.”

“For what? His _liver_?”

Castiel glanced at me. “I had a theory.”

“And?”

“I believed Sam’s soul was missing. And it is.”

All four of us lowly humans stared at the angel in disbelief. “That’s not possible,” Dean said.

“So where is it?” I asked.

“My guess is still in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer.”

“Well, then just get it back,” Dean told him. “You pulled me out.”

Wait, what? I lost my chance to question _that_ statement as Castiel snapped, “It took several angels to rescue you, and you weren’t nearly as well guarded. Sam’s soul is in _Lucifer’s Cage_. There’s a difference, a _big_ difference. It’s not possible.”

“Okay, well, there’s got to be a way.”

“Back up,” I interjected. “ _Cass_ got you out of _Hell_?”

“Long story,” Dean answered.

“He made a crossroads deal. I flew in with my garrison and battled demons until we reached him,” Castiel summarized.

“Okay, not _that_ long of a story.”

I threw my hands up. “Is there an outline for the Winchester saga? A book?”

“Actually…” Castiel cut off at the glares from both Sam and Dean.

“So now what?” asked Sam. He massaged his freed wrists. “You can’t keep me locked up forever.”

“Bobby!” Dean and I both shouted.

“He was halfway through freein’ himself anyways,” Bobby grumbled. “And he’s right.”

“Look,” Sam said firmly, “I know I’m not right, but I do know that it’s still me. Just… not the _same_ me as before. Cass says we don’t have a way to get my soul back so for now you’re stuck with soul _less_ guy. You might as well work with me if we want to get any answers.”

Dean glared. “I’m going to be watching every move you make.”

“Fine.”

I’d had enough. I turned on my heel to leave. “Eva?” Bobby asked worriedly. At his voice I paused for a moment, but decided to keep going.

The others continued discussing possibilities and clues. I retreated back into the upstairs bedroom.

I lay down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. They could convince themselves that they could handle this version of Sam, but I wasn’t so sure. Dean and Bobby had yet to spend any significant amount of time with him and therefore hadn’t seen the measures Sam would implement to get things done. In his case, _always_ , the ends justified the means, and I was fairly certain bonds of family meant nothing to him.

If Sam was playing nice he had some kind of endgame. Whether it was using us for Crowley’s stupid task or just indulging on some whim I had no idea. One thing I knew for sure: if Dean had decided to travel with his brother than the older Winchester was fucked. I couldn’t let that happen.

Decision was made. I was going to go along with this farce for as long as possible. And the second Sam turned on us I’d slit his throat myself.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes “The Third Man” (SPN 6.03) and “Family Matters” (SPN 6.07).

 


	10. 10

The only real lead we had was Samuel; he’d been resurrected at the same time so maybe he had some idea of what had brought them back. We started towards the Campbell compound within the hour mostly because it was obvious that Bobby didn’t want Sam in his house any longer than necessary. For one, the fact that he was soulless just put the man on edge. For two, Bobby was absolutely _furious_ with what Sam had implied he’d done to me.

Part of the problem was that I didn’t want to give anyone specifics. I’m certain Sam would have happily given any if someone asked but no one did. Pretty sure Bobby was thinking I’d been assaulted and that Dean didn’t believe me when I’d said it was my choice.

Regardless, I had no intention of being alone with Sam, purposefully or accidentally, until he was fixed. Thankfully, I had a literal angel on my shoulder looking out for me. While the others handled various logistics (Dean had to call Lisa, Bobby wanted to double check a few books, Sam moved a few belongings from his Charger to the Chevy) I packed a few things that I’d left in Bobby’s spare bedroom. Castiel hovered in the doorway. “Is there a reason you’ve been standing there?” I eventually asked.

The angel continued gazing down the hallway. “I did not want you to be alone.”

I buckled up the last of my things in a shoulder bag. “Why?”

“Because of Sam.”

I sighed. “I’m a big girl, Cass. I can tie my own shoes and everything.”

“I know.” I’m pretty sure he was referring to my shoes. “It’s just… I don’t trust him.”

He was being honest, but there was something… I don’t know. I could swear Castiel was feeling _responsible_ somehow for Sam’s actions. Of course, technically, it turned out he was. However, at the time all I could think was that it was nice of him to care.

I hefted my bags to my shoulder and walked over to him. After lifting up on my tiptoes I pressed my hand to the side of his face and gave him a gentle kiss on the opposite cheek. “Thank you.”

The angel looked puzzled. “You’re welcome?”

I’d shoved shyness aside a long time ago. Being a demure little maiden had gotten me fucked up in the first place so why bother? But when I looked into those ancient blue eyes I suddenly felt really self-conscious. “Um, so…”

“Eva!” Dean shouted up from the foyer. “Ready?”

“Yeah, I’m coming!” I started walking towards the stairs, but when I felt a pull on my strap I came to a halt. To my consternation I found myself being scrutinized by a very confused angel. “What?”

Castiel leaned in ever so slightly before letting go. “Nothing. I will meet you there.” A rush of wings later and he had poofed away.

Was… Was Castiel going to kiss me? On his own? Was he even capable of feeling anything with all his powers back…? Oh well, no use mulling about the enigma of angelic reasoning when I had to prep for a five hour drive with a sociopath and his cranky brother.

I hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Sam was sitting nonchalantly in the front passenger’s seat of the Chevy while Dean argued with Bobby. “We need someone to hold down the fort.”

“Boy,” Bobby said temperamentally, “don’t be talkin’ to me like I’m stupid. You need backup.”

“Eva’s coming and Cass is meeting us there. You keep looking for some way of gettin’ Crowley to hand over that soul o’yours. Figure it out and we’ll be right back to help.”

Bobby’s mustache went through several grumpy wiggles before he uttered, “Fine. I got one lead, anyways. Gonna have to test it out before I know for sure.”

“What is it?” I asked curiously.

“Nothin’ you need to be hearing, girl.” The old hunter gave me a good pat on the shoulder. “You watch her back,” he told Dean.

I was about to object to the overprotectiveness when Bobby‘s eyes slid meaningfully back over to Sam. Instead of being belligerent I acquiesced. Sarcastically. “Back,” I clarified to Dean, “not ass.”

The elder Winchester rolled his eyes and headed for his car. I gave Bobby a farewell smile and followed. A quick rev of the engine and we were off.

Most of the ride was spent in uncomfortable silence. Dean and I were unwilling to start any conversations that might go askew with Sam in the car, and Sam just didn’t care. It made for tension thick enough to cut with the proverbial knife.

Halfway there we made a necessary pit stop at a gas station where Dean gave his brother a shopping list of junk food (beginning with pie and ending with pie). I got out, stretched, and leaned against the car. “You gonna talk?” Dean asked as he waited for the gas to pump.

“About?”

“You and Sammy. Just… if you need someone to talk to I’m here.”

“Dean,” I sighed, “if… _when_ Sam gets his soul back he’ll be your brother again. Do you really want to hear about things you might not be able to forgive him for?”

The pump clicked. “That bad?”

I bit my lip, remembering. How Sam would slam the door closed before backing me up against it and ravaging my lips with his. How he’d roll me on top and fuck me, my head thrown back and my hands on my own breasts. How he’d give me gentle caresses, light kisses, sending us both careening over the edge… and how he’d turn away as soon as the feeling faded.

Dean replaced the pump. I saw Sam returning from the convenience store, bag in hand. “Sometimes,” I finally answered.

The older Winchester looked worriedly at me, but closed the conversation when Sam came up and announced, “They only had those Hostess fruit things.”

“Fine by me,” Dean replied and snatched a cherry pie out of the bag.

Sam gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and asked, “Want one?”

I ignored him and opened the back door. Another few hours and maybe we’d have some answers. Samuel or one of his ilk could bring me back to Lisa’s so I could grab my bike and then I could say farewell to the six and a half foot tall pile of shit.

* * *

We got to the Campbell compound just as the sun was setting. Mark was doing guard duty. When he spotted Sam he waved us on in. I saw him look appreciatively at the Chevy (the _Impala_ , as Dean so adamantly corrected at one point) before giving me a curious glance.

Samuel, Gwen, and Christian (the complete and utter asshole of the Campbell bunch) were huddled around the conference table. Sam got a hearty welcome from the men and Gwen walked over to give me a brief hug in welcome.

Dean’s only greeting was an exchange of suspicious stares between himself and Samuel. Sam had explained who was who on the way, but I don’t think Dean had been totally convinced that their grandfather, who had been killed before they were even conceived, was now walking about. There was apparently some history, something having to do with a powerful, yellow-eyed demon and the Winchesters’ mother, but I hadn’t been privy to the exact details.

Samuel gave me a warm smile. “We were worried,” he said to me after his and Dean’s staring contest was done. “Sam said you’d been abducted.”

I scowled up at Sam. “You’re a dick.”

“Can we talk?” Dean asked Samuel. “Somewhere in private?”

The older man lifted an eyebrow and waved off the others. Samuel led us into his office, shut the door, and asked, “What’s this about?”

“The day you got back, what happened?”

“I was dead. I woke up, _pow_ , I was on Elton Ridge. Don’t know how, don’t know why.”

“Are you certain?” Castiel said from behind him.

Samuel swiveled around. He kept his cool remarkably well. “The angel, huh? You’re scrawnier than I pictured.”

“This is a vessel.” Cass sounded almost offended. “My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building.”

Samuel ignored the flat-spoken boast. “I still don’t know what this is about.”

“Cass needs to check something,” I told him as the angel rolled up his sleeves.

“And what’s that?”

“Please hold very still,” Castiel instructed. After that highly informative statement, Samuel froze. The angel plunged a hand into his belly, eliciting a monstrously horrendous scream from the Campbell patriarch.

The process didn’t take nearly as long as it had with Sam; Castiel merely rooted about for a few seconds and withdrew. “His soul is intact,” he said as Christian came bursting through the door.

The dickhead cousin gave us all steely glares. “What the fuck…?”

“I’m fine, Christian,” Samuel panted out. “Just give us a minute.”

“But—“

“Just give us a minute.”

After another round of suspicious glances Christian left. “What was that about my soul?” Samuel asked, still bracing himself against his desk.

“Whatever dragged me out,” said Sam, “left a piece behind.” After a moment he asked, “Did you know?”

“No, but I… I knew it was _something_.” Samuel sighed and looked from him to me. “You’re a hell of a hunter, Sam, but the truth is sometimes you scare me. And then whatever was going on between—“

“We need help figuring this out,” I cut across him. I didn’t need to be wallowing in anymore memories.

“Well, I’m here to help, of course,” he said. His eyes lingered on me for a moment more; he was going to bother me about this later. Joy. “What leads you working?”

Sam, Dean, and grandpa Campbell discussed their lack of information while I paced. After a few minutes I noticed Castiel staring upwards worriedly. “What is it?”

“I have to get back.”

“You’re leaving?” Dean asked incredulously.

"I’m in the middle of a civil war,” the angel replied crossly.

“You better tear the attic up, find something to help Sam.”

"Of course. Your problems always come first.” Castiel said it with so much weary, veiled irritation that it sparked my temper. “I’ll be in touch.”

As soon as he’d disappeared I walked up to Dean and snapped, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You! What you told Cass! Don’t you realize what he’s been doing?”

“So the angels are bickering again,” Sam scoffed. “No big deal.”

“It’s not like this is something new to them,” Dean added.

“He’s being forced to kill his _family!_ Doesn’t that mean _anything_ to you?”

“Those douchebags tossed Cass out on his ass! If he’s decided to stick up for them that’s his mistake!”

Both of our voices had risen to shouts. “He can’t be doing shit for you when he’s in the middle of a fucking war! You’re going to get him hurt.”

Dean glanced over at his brother. “We got bigger crap on our plate right now than worrying about a bunch of feathered assholes.”

I tipped over into pure fury. “You stupid, pig-headed, selfish—“

“Hey hey hey!” Sam yelled, one of his hands grabbing the fist I’d raised. “That’s enough already.”

I yanked my hand out of his grasp and stormed out. The door clanged quite satisfyingly when I slammed it shut. Gwen walked over and held out my keys. “Everything okay in there?”

“Sure.” I started walking to the exit. I wanted distance between me and the Winchesters. Maybe I could hitch a ride. Take a train. A bus. A freaking bicycle.

“Wait!” Gwen cried. She jogged over and laid a hand on my arm. “Stick around. We got a big one coming up.”

“Big as in… what?”

“Big as in _huge_. Finally got a good lead on that Alpha Vamp.”

* * *

I decided to stay, at least for this. After all, that’s what I had stuck around for. Even if it wasn’t Crowley the one who was delivering, it was still an end result. I could be taking revenge for my family in a matter of days.

We spent the next few hours preparing. Shotguns to slow them down, machetes for any followers the Alpha might have with him, and about two adult bodies’ worth of dead man’s blood. I helped catalogue ammo and then headed out to the Impala for my bags and a spare set of clothes. New underwear, socks, tank to—

“Eva?”

I spun around and tried to impale Samuel with my… socks. “Don’t do that!”

The older man lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just wanted to see how you were.”

I gathered up my clothes. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” This line of questioning was really getting tiresome.

He sighed. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“For?” What was this about?

“I thought… I thought what was going on with you and Sam was kind of a relationship thing. Didn’t think I had any business interfering.”

Oh. Knew he wasn’t going to leave that be. “I’m an adult, Samuel. I could handle myself.”

“Could you? Really?” He didn’t wait for an answer before plowing forward. “We all knew. Neither of you said anything, but we knew.”

Shit. “It was sex. That’s it.”

“If it was just sex, then what was up with the bruises?” At my lifted eyebrows he added, “You didn’t hide them as well as you think.”

I squirmed. “Because he’s a dick. Apparently a dick with no soul.”

Samuel nodded slowly. “Be careful, Eva.”

I swallowed an unexpected lump that had taken root in my throat. “Thanks.”

The old man felt guilty; he was the one who asked Sam to tail me, after all. It never occurred to me that he’d noticed what else had been going on with Sam. Now I knew that it was sort of a selective silence, kind of like the way my father never spoke about the fact that he knew Josie wasn’t a virgin even though he’d picked up her birth control pills multiple times.

I was on the verge of tears. Samuel’s kindness was so unexpected it threatened to break more of that wall around my heart. Dean had already chipped at it all those months ago after Sam had thrown himself into Hell. Now that crack was widening.

This was no good. I’d survived all these years by making myself hard. A fighter, a _warrior_. We were about to dive into the lair of _the_ vampire and I needed to be able to cover their backs. No way I could do that as a stinking lump of emotional shit.

The compound door creaked open. “Hey!” Gwen called. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I cracked out. After clearing my throat I repeated, “Yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Fuck this nonsense. Go in, behead some vamps, and I’ll be good to go. After that… well, after that would be _after_. First things first. Time to bag big daddy bloodsucker.

* * *

Gwen and I ended up in the Impala with Dean while Samuel bullied Sam into the van. I had this feeling grandpa Campbell didn’t want Winchester taller anywhere near a female member of his group. Old fashioned chivalry, I suppose.

I explained the bag and tag operation to Dean on the way. “What the fuck?” was his response.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do but that’s what Crowley asked and that’s what we’re doing.”

“So I get why you’re doin’ it,” Dean told me. He turned slightly over to the back seat. “What I don’t get is why you all are.”

“I trust Samuel,” Gwen said simply. “Demon or no demon, whatever he’s doing must be for a good reason.”

“Do any of you even know what Crowley’s even after?”

“All we know,” I replied, “is that they get taken somewhere, they get grilled for info, and that’s the last of it.”

“Torture,” Dean stated harshly.

“So suddenly you’re all heartfelt and squishy for monsters?”

Dean’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He was silent for a few miles. “Still don’t like it. Either of you even been there when it goes down?”

Both Gwen and I said “no.” “Samuel doesn’t want us there,” Gwen said bitterly. “He thinks we’d be too soft on them.”

“Soft?” Dean scoffed. He thumbed at me. “This one nearly caved my face in last year.”

“Really?” Gwen asked interestedly.

“Long story,” I replied. “Look, we haven’t been to these Q&A’s and so we don’t know where it goes down. So play nice or don’t play at all.”

Unspoken was the idea that if we didn’t go along we’d never find out what the endgame was. I hoped Dean understood. At the very least he capitulated and shut up about the whole messy situation. With a twist of his wrist he turned up the radio and effectively killed any further conversation.

The actual operation went off without a hitch. Samuel made Gwen and Dean stay outside and pick up stragglers. He tried to make me do the same, but I gave him the finger and walked towards the entrance, machete resting on my shoulder.

Lots of flunkies inside to chop, and after getting stabbed and pumped full of dead man’s blood the Alpha Vampire wasn’t in any condition to fight back. Pretty much went off without a problem.

We watched them stuff the Alpha into the back of the van before prepping to leave. Gwen automatically sat with Samuel in the front of that vehicle (where she usually went) and I unfortunately ended up in the back of the Impala with the Winchesters. It took all my willpower not to stab through the leather into the passenger’s seat.

The pair had a loud row on the way back to the compound. Sam was blunt when asked why Dean had been kept out of the loop for so long; apparently the elder brother’s traditional method of “shoot first and ask questions later” would have gotten in the way. I didn’t believe it and neither did Dean.

“And you two fucking?” Dean demanded angrily. “How does that figure?”

“I’m sitting right here,” I said sourly.

“She was available,” Sam replied casually. He turned towards me, that damn smirk on his lips. “No use denying that you wanted it just as much.”

I didn’t really need the reminder of how easily I gave in. Sam, however, really _did_ need the black eye I gave him a second later. He shouted out several obscenities and then looked at his brother for support. Dean merely told him, “That’s what you get.”

In the end Dean gave Sam an ultimatum. “You want this to work then I drive the bus, I call the shots and you tell me _everything_ whether you think it’s important or not because, _trust me_ , you can’t tell the difference. Or, you know what, go stay with Samuel. See how that goes. It’s up to you.”

We’d reached the road outside of the compound at this point. Sam’s face was inscrutable. After a few minutes of silence he got out of the car. Much to my surprise, rather than taking off Dean killed the engine. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

I sighed and got comfortable. My eyes were starting to drift shut when Sam abruptly returned. He greeted his brother and ignored me. “You didn’t think I’d come back,” he accused.

“I figured sixty-forty,” Dean replied with a shrug.

Sam ignored the implications. “So, Samuel didn’t take the bait. I went with plan B.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You guys had a plan B? You actually thought through something? That’s a first.”

“Yeah,” Dean said grumpily, “except we _didn’t_ have a plan B. What the hell did you do?” he asked his brother.

“Fired up the GPS on one of his cellphones. We should be able to track him right to the Alpha.”

“The old man won’t notice?”

“Trust me. He thinks _Velcro_ is big news.”

* * *

Samuel’s phone led us to the industrial district of Lawrence, a good hour or so drive from the compound.

We picked our way inside. Down an adjoining hallway we heard a new voice sardonically say, “Ouch. Stop. That hurts.”

Samuel’s voice replied with a threat that was half-hearted at best. Metal clattered to the floor a minute later and footsteps marched away. We crept forward, Dean leading, keeping to the shadows and trying to avoid detection from what we all knew was the Alpha Vampire.

Turned out it was for nothing. “Are you going to hide all night? Come on out now, don’t be shy.” Once we were in the light, the Alpha asked pleasantly, “How can I help you?”

“We got some questions for you, skippy,” Dean said cockily, “since you’re going nowhere fast.”

“Don’t be so sure.” The vamp locked eyes with me. “Hello, Evangeline.”

My eyes widened. I’d never met this thing before in my life. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis.”

He chortled. “ _We_ aren’t. But you are so, so very well acquainted with one of my children. I know what all of them are up to, especially those that have been around for a very long time. My dear Liu—“ his smile widened, “—I’m sorry, _Louie_ , is always thinking about the one that got away.”

I could feel the blood draining from my face. “Eva?” Dean asked worriedly.

Sam was asking the Alpha questions, like defining who, what, why, and where, but I barely heard him. Something about Purgatory. About mothers. Dean inserted the odd comment here and there but his hand was on my shoulder and I knew his primary focus was whatever was on my mind.

Every single one of my scars flared up under Dean’s fingers as the Alpha’s voice rolled over my ears. _It knew_. It knew and it _approved_ of what had been done to me. Who could imagined such horrors? Had he taken pleasure in watching Louis’s handiwork? Was the Alpha even now hearing Louie think about me, reminisce about me, plan what he would do to me?

I felt violated all over again, my skin laid bare in preparation to be flayed.

No.

NO.

He didn’t get to do this to me. Not again. Not _ever_ again.

Dean was saying something obnoxious about Kermit as I found my hands on the bars of the Alpha’s cage. “WHERE IS HE?” I screamed. “WHERE THE FUCK IS HE? TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK HE IS!”

That motherfucker laughed at me. I stretched my arms at him, still shrieking nearly incomprehensible inquiries. Two pairs of hands yanked me back just as the click and catch of a shotgun being prepped echoed through the room. “Evening,” Samuel said pleasantly after Dean’s hand clamped over my mouth.

Samuel gestured us from the room with his gun barrel, Christian and another Campbell cousin standing with him to make sure we complied. I jerked away from Dean and stomped on ahead. We went down an adjacent hallway and stopped. The cousin walked away, I assume to go watch over the Alpha.

While Samuel kept his shotgun trained on us, Christian patted us down and divested us of our weapons. He did the Winchesters first. An impressive array of blades and firearms was piled up on the floor when he was done. When he got to me he started on my boots, slipping lockpicks and knives out, slid his hand around my ass, took my sword from its sheath, and rather thoroughly “searched” my chest for any hidden items. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to react.

I opened my eyes as Dean snapped, “Wow, you know, I have seen some stupid in my time, but you take the crown.“

My mind was still fogged, blood pumping loudly in my ears, and I missed much of the subsequent machoism. I sort of got back to reality when Dean attacked Samuel and Sam attacked Christian, an effort that was stymied by Gwen’s fortuitous arrival. “Hi,” she said cheerily after cocking Samuel’s dropped shotgun.

“Gwen,” Dean sighed. “And I thought we had something special.”

Silence followed as both Campbells caught their breath. I stood where I was and stared at my sword. As soon as a scream echoed down the hall I snatched it up and ran back to the other room.

Both Dean and Gwen shouted my name, but I was past caring. The Alpha Vampire had escaped and the nameless Campbell cousin was dead. Upon seeing his body I ran out another door, focused on the hunt.

It knew where Louie Lee was and it was going to tell me before I killed it.

I jogged down hallways, my eyes scanning every shadowy alcove, every open doorway. The others were walking about cautiously, their footsteps taps that barely registered as sound, but I didn’t care. It had been years and years of hunting and searching and I needed to know.

Of course, my stupidity got me caught. I rounded a doorway into an open area and found myself grabbed by the neck and slammed up against a support pillar. “Evangeline,” purred the Alpha Vampire. “What Louie told me about what you two had together… really, I’m quite jealous.”

“Fk… y…” I managed to eke out.

He leaned in and took a big sniff. Inadvertently, I received a whiff of his scent. The stench of death and blood and rot of so many years made me sick to my stomach. When he pulled back there was an alarmingly large grin on his face. “Why, Evangeline. Congratulations.”

I was absolutely dumbfounded. “Wh…?”

“You’re pregnant.”

No.

Nope.

Not true. Not at all. My mouth moved opened and closed in a vain attempt to vocalize my denial but nothing came out.

The Alpha took the opportunity and pondered, “I’ve never personally turned anyone that was… expecting. I wonder, would the fetus survive? Let’s test that, shall we?”

My eyes widened as his fangs descended. I was dead dead dead—except rescue came from an unlikely source. Christian’s arm wrapped around the Alpha Vampire’s neck and pulled him off of me in a show of strength that incongruent to his size. Then his eyes filmed over with inky blackness.

“Explains a lot,” I said hoarsely through a bruised trachea.

Christian smiled cruelly. “Same with you.”

Shit. He’d heard. Thankfully the others came pounding in, alerted by the loud snarls and imprecations coming from the Alpha. A moment later two more demons appeared… and then _disappeared_ with Christian and the vampire.

An obnoxiously slow applause began coming from the other end of the room. _Crowley_ stepped out and observed, “Well, that was dramatic.”

Everyone’s eyes were on King Dickhead which gave me the opportunity to start sidling towards the exit. “Bring Christian back now!” Samuel demanded.

“I’m sorry?”

“My nephew! The one you crammed a demon into!”

“Oh. No. I had him possessed ages ago. Samuel, really. I keep an eye on my investments.”

“Since when do you give a crap about vampires or chubacabra or any of those shits?” Dean growled.

“Since, uh…” Crowley pretended to think. “What’s today? Friday? Since… let’s see…” The pontificating disappeared behind a smirk. “Mind your business.”

“You may as well share with the class, Crowley,” Sam snapped. “We know you’re looking for Purgatory.”

“So you heard about that?”

"Yeah. You want to tell us why?”

I didn’t care. I wanted out. By that point in their exchange I’d reached the doorway and, contrary to my earlier flight around the building, I slipped out as quietly as possible. I burst from the door that we’d initially entered from and ran. I hotwired the first shitty car I could find and began to drive.

I hit the first twenty-four hour pharmacy and grabbed three different pregnancy tests. At the closest motel I tore open the wrappings and headed for the bathroom.

All positive.

Fuck me and fuck Sam fucking Winchester.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Family Matters” (SPN 6.07).

 **Author’s Note** : Just a bit of fudging done with Gwen, who didn’t know about the Crowley thing canon-wise until his big reveal. Here, obvs, she already knew.


	11. 11

I lay there on the motel bed staring at the ceiling for I don’t know how long. What was I going to do? Let’s see. Baby daddy had no soul. King of Hell knew who I was. No permanent home for a crib, not to mention a lack of health care or any of that stupid shit.

The thing was, this shouldn’t have been possible. What Louie Lee had done to me had damaged my insides so badly the doctors had told me that the chance I could ever have children was slim to none. Therefore unless some goddamn miracle had…

Ah, fuck. _Crowley_.

It must have happened when Bobby got me healed up before the big prize fight. What had he yelled? That I should be back to full health? I guess the demon had taken that literally. Wonder if he’d taken care of my liver and clogged arteries while he was at it.

Of course I used protection, but with Sam I’d gotten careless. I mean, I _should_ have kept in mind that those ladies he’d been picking up might have been carrying some interesting passengers, but I’d had other things on my mind. Way to go, me. What an awesome thing to forget.

Speaking of the bastard, my phone had been blowing up with texts and calls and I hadn’t bothered responding to either. Another miscalculation on my part since I hadn’t gone quite as far as I’d thought and Dean Winchester was a stubborn son of a bitch.

I _should_ have heard that loud-ass engine of theirs from a mile away, but I think after my Prius quip outside of Satan’s abode Dean had gotten wise to the sound of his car. Thus, when he knocked on the door it took me by surprise. I’m sure the thump of me falling off the bed didn’t exactly assuage any anxieties he had about my disappearance.

“Eva?” _Knock knock knock_. “I know you’re in there. Are you okay? You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I’m fine!” I yelled back. “Now fuck off!”

He didn’t listen when I told him that at Bobby’s and he didn’t listen now. “You know I ain’t leaving until I know for sure.”

“Ugh!” I picked myself off the floor and walked over to yank open the door. Both Dean and his brother barreled in, hands on concealed weapons. “Come in,” I offered belatedly.

“Oh,” Sam said, disappointed. “You really are fine.”

Dick. “I’m _so_ glad for your concern. Now get out.”

“Why’d you take off?” Dean demanded. “We got a shitload of info off of Crowley. Could have used more backup.”

“I’m sorry,” I crooned. “Did you need someone to hold your hand? No, don’t—!” Goddamnit, Sam was going right into the bathroom and those stupid tests were sitting _right there_ …

And the door clicked shut. As I heard him taking care of business I plunked down on the edge of one of the beds, my head in my hands. Nonplussed, Dean waited his brother out, and when Sam emerged peering at a white plastic stick he asked, “Isn’t that…?”

“You’re holding something I _peed_ on,” I said caustically.

“Is this for real?” Sam wondered.

“No, I asked a woman off the street for her piss so I could see if those things worked. Yes, it’s real!”

“Then get rid of it.”

Before I could explode Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulders, turned him around, and marched the both of them outside. “We’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder. I heard the two of them arguing as they walked away.

I flopped back down onto the bed and fought back an unnatural desire to cry. Was this normal? This whole crying at the drop of a hat? It was really annoying.

Dean came back about five minutes later looking harried. He closed the door gently. “I sent him to go get us coffee. He’s an asshole.”

“No shit.”

He paced. “It’s Sam’s, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I got this feeling you want to keep it.”

“Mmm.” I wasn’t sure.

“You know, whatever decision you make you got my support.”

“Thanks.”

“But, and I’m ain’t saying this to make you do anything you don’t want, I think when Sammy gets his soul back he could be one hell of a dad.”

Yes, I thought so too. Sam Winchester with a soul was a sweet, empathetic, and intelligent young man. Sam Winchester without a soul was a walking ball of fire, indiscriminately sowing ruin wherever he went just because he was there. “That’s ‘if’, not ‘when’.”

“It’ll happen,” Dean claimed with as much confidence as he could muster. Then his brow furrowed. “Is that going to mess with the baby somehow?”

I bolted upright. “Is _what_ going to mess with the baby?”

“Him being soulless. I mean, demon gives birth in a meatsuit and the kid ain’t all human. Probably same for angels if it’s even possible.”

My eyes widened. I put my hands over my womb and looked down. Hadn’t even though about that. What was I giving birth to? Would it be a monster? Some kind of hybrid sociopath? Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all. Maybe it was all just useless speculation.

Dean saw the way my face was contorting as I went over the various scenarios and shook his head. “Let’s not worry until there’s something to worry about. I say we go to Bobby’s, see if he’s got info.”

Yes. That was an easy to follow direction. “Fine. Let’s get my bike on the way.” I grabbed my keys and had them immediately snatched away. “Hey!”

“You’re not driving a freaking motorcycle in your condition!”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I’ll get Sam to drive it. You can hang in the Impala with me.”

“Hell no! Give me my fucking keys!”

“What if you fall? Or get into an accident? Or any of that stupid shit that’s more likely to happen when you’re driving that death trap of yours!”

“Oh, now that I’ve got your little nephew or niece cooking we’re all protective.” I tried to get my keys back and the bastard just held them high over my head. Don’t know why he thought that would stop me. My foot connected solidly with his stomach and he crumpled to the floor.

I bent over and swiped my keys from where he’d dropped them. “No touchy.”

Dean mumbled an assent from the floor. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

“One can only hope.”

* * *

It might have been the small hours of the morning by this point, but none of us were inclined to linger. We caffeinated, gassed up, and headed straight to Sioux Falls. Dean had gotten what he wanted; we were going to check in with Bobby before heading to Lisa’s. No bike for me, at least for now.

Dean called Bobby on the way and gave him the details about our latest predicament while I shot up several prayers to Castiel. When we arrived both of them were waiting with answers. Or, more accurately, a lack thereof.

“I dunno what to tell you,” Bobby said from his desk. “There ain’t nothin’ in the lore about something like this happening, you know, _ever_.”

“It shouldn’t make a difference,” added Castiel. “Human reproduction is a biological procedure involving cellular interaction, not the conjoining of two souls. At least at the physical level. I think.”

“You _think_?” I repeated incredulously.

“See,” Sam said smugly. “Should do what I said in the first place: get rid of it.”

Rather than object, Bobby and the angel both looked rather amenable to the idea. “It’d be the safest route,” said Castiel.

“We just don’t know,” Bobby offered quietly.

There was no way I was going to let these idiots make this decision for me. I shot to my feet and spun on my heel towards the door. Sam grabbed my arm. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Does it matter?”

“Since you’re walking off with _my_ kid, then _yes_ it kind of matters!”

I scowled. “What, you actually care for this thing now?”

“Not… really,” he admitted as he glanced back at the others. “But I think _they_ do.“ He sighed, exasperated. “I’m trying to do what old Sam would have done. I don’t think I’d just let you take off without discussing this a bit more.”

Something inside my body felt strange. At first I thought maybe I was feeling disgusted by Sam’s touch. And then I realized… uh oh. “Let me go.”

“No, not until you agree to talk.”

“Let me go or I’m going to puke on your head.”

Sam unhanded me really damn quick. Bobby’s bathroom was _past_ the front door from his living room and there was no way I was going to make it. I stumbled outside instead and made it between a beat up old truck and a stack of squashed sedans before having to let it loose. There wasn’t anything coming up other than bile, but it still sucked. “Kill me now,” I groaned to nobody.

“Um,” Castiel said from behind me, “that seems rather extreme. Your nausea should pass after the first trimester.”

Delightful. I turned around, wobbly, and saw him standing there with a glass of water. “Thanks.” With the angel’s help I managed to stumble over to Bobby’s porch. He handed me the glass and I took nice, small sips. “Cass?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really think Sam will get his soul back?”

“I… I’m…” At his hesitance I looked up at him. “Of course he will.”

The guy still didn’t know how to lie. It didn’t mean that it was impossible, it just meant that Castiel was covering up his misgivings. Oh well.

I stared off into the yard. “What do you think I should do?” No answer. I gazed upwards again only to see empty space. The angel was gone. Guess someone had fired up the Cass-signal up in Heaven.

Bobby came out a second later. “You okay, kid?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, we’ve been talkin’. Whatever you decide we’ll all support you, but we’re wondering if you’ll hang here in the meantime.”

I blinked at him. “Why?”

“Safest place for you and yours. Plus I’m bettin’ that bike o’yours needs a tuneup. We’re gonna go fetch it after you all have rested up a bit.”

I sighed and leaned my head against a support beam. It sounded like a good idea, honestly. Not like I had a real permanent home to go back to at this point and if my stomach was any indication I was in no shape to hunt. Any creature I’d go after would be able to track me by the vomit fumes. “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Let’s see how much you regret this after hearing me barf for the millionth time.”

“Girl, you got nothing on me after a bottle of tequila and some Mexican food.”

* * *

Yes, I kept it, or, more accurately, as we found out later, _him_. I couldn’t do what they wanted no matter how many arguments they threw in my face. My family was decimated, my life had gone completely to hell, and this? Well, this little bean looked like he might be the most normal thing to have happen to me in a long, long time.

I know, I know, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Maybe I was trying to just rationalize the irrational, a vain attempt to put a positive spin on something that I wanted. I had no plans for the future, no thoughts about money, a home, education, any of that. All I knew was that something that I had never thought would happen _had_ happened and I was going to do everything in my power to see it through.

The group’s reactions were varying.

Sam was mostly annoyed. He straight up told me that he wasn’t about to get chained in one place by a kid and their mother. I asked him to tell me when I had _ever_ asked him for _anything_. The bastard began reminding me what I had begged for while we’d been sleeping together, a recitation that ended when I kneed him between the legs.

He kept insisting that I get rid of it. There were various tactics he would use: telling me how many enemies the Winchesters had, reminding me that he was soulless, asking how the hell was I supposed to raise a kid as messed up as I was? Still, I’d made my decision, and the fact that I started responding to Sam’s diatribes with a glazed expression and single-syllable answers pissed him off. After a while we contented ourselves by giving each other the silent treatment.

Dean vacillated between worry and euphoria. Becoming an uncle was an absolute wonder, but the fact that his brother was soulless made him deeply apprehensive about the outcome. When they were first on the road after our discussion he called me every night to ask how I was doing. It stopped when I told him I’d teach the boy to call him “Auntie Deanna” instead of “Uncle Dean.” After that he managed to restrain himself to calling only once every few days.

Castiel popped in a handful of times, but apparently the war against Raphael had amped up in intensity and his time was fully occupied staving off the archangel’s forces. From what little he could tell us, it didn’t sound like things were going well. His usual visits consisted of coming in, doing a cursory examination of the growing fetus, announcing that things were progressing normally, and taking off.

If we managed to pin the angel down for more than a few minutes he would look so weary that Bobby and I forewent asking him anything about his war. I began taking Castiel out to do something relaxing, mundane.

Most often I would take him on a walk through the woods. We found a glade with a small stream beside it and it became our regular stopping point. Cass would sit down beside me and we would listened to nature. It was the only time I saw the tension leave his shoulders.

Bobby acted like everything was straightforward and kosher, but I could tell that his worries lay along the same lines as Dean’s. He did nonstop research on the phenomenon while still doing his normal shtick as research-master for the hunter community. Since I was immobilized I helped out, at least with the latter. I’d given up finding out any information on the former.

He did, however, manage to get his soul back from Crowley by virtue of a little ghost summoning and a plane ticket to Scotland. Apparently Crowley, or “Fergus MacLeod,” had had a son, who in the name of abject loathing provided Bobby with the location of the demon’s bones. Atlantic trip for the Winchesters, a few not-so-empty threats, and Bobby was free.

I met a few interesting characters during those months. One was Rufus Turner, Bobby’s hunter mentor, who came in with the body of a kitsune and ended up providing us with the tools to blackmail Crowley. He was a gruff, straightforward man, who took an instant liking to me when, after being asked if I was Bobby’s live-in maid, I told him to “blow it up his fucking ass.” Rufus didn’t stay long, but he definitely made a lasting impression.

The other person was Sheriff Jody Mills. It took me a bit to warm up to her, but after she found me barfing into a pile of stacked tires and discovered my condition she wouldn’t leave me be. Tips and recipes and over sharing… I really didn’t want any of it. I forgave Jody, however, when she showed up with Granny Smith apples and Preggie Pops and I finally got relief from the really, really mislabeled morning sickness.

She also bullied me into seeing her OB/GYN, a woman who turned out to be both kind and discreet. There was history between them, the kind that involved unnatural circumstances, and Dr. Youngman was extraordinarily open to hearing about my baby daddy’s issues. I got ultrasounds and vitamins and the assurance that if my boy started giving off any weird vibes she’d tell me right away.

My first trimester passed in relative peace. Despite what I’d told Rufus I _was_ cleaning the house, and I nested quite well in that upstairs bedroom. There were only two incidents worth mentioning and both of them happened via phone calls.

* * *

The first one was nerve wracking. I was already half-awake when Lisa called in the middle of the night. “Hello?” I mumbled.

“Eva.” She sounded breathless. I couldn’t tell if it was panic or anger or both. “Have you talked to Dean?”

I yawned. “Not in a few days. Why?”

“He just came in… something was wrong, I have no idea. I thought he was here for a visit, but he… he…” She gave a sniff. What the hell? “He _pushed Ben_.”

“Wait, what?” Dean was a lot of things, but lashing out at a kid? Not remotely part of his M.O.

Lisa gave a shuddering sigh. “He told me he was going to _die_. What kind of person says that? Eva, I’m really worried, but at the same time I’m pissed. You know?”

“No, I get it.” Sort of. “Let me call you back.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and dialed Dean. Voicemail. Dialed Sam. “What?” he snapped.

“Still so polite. Where’s Dean?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you—“ I wiped a hand down my face. Too tired for this. “Lisa just called me. He went over there and scared the shit out of her. What the hell is going on?” Silence from the other end. “Sam?”

“It’s nothing. Look, I gotta go.”

He hung up. I dialed him again and got his voicemail. Dialed Dean and got the same. Again. I swear to God, these two assholes… Ugh.

I didn’t want to wake up Bobby, but as he wasn’t asleep that turned out not to be a worry. He was downstairs hunched over his desk with a glass of whiskey and three different books open. “Bobby?”

Startled, the man’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced at the clock and then back at me. “Shouldn’t you be sleepin’?”

I sighed and sat on the couch. “Can you try and call Dean? Something’s wrong.”

“Something’s always wrong.”

“Yeah, well, he went over to Lisa’s and assaulted Ben. I’d say this is _wrong_ wrong.”

Bobby picked up his phone and dialed the brothers. He got the same answers as I did, voicemails, except Bobby left a few scathing messages about calling him back or he’d rip them new assholes for worrying us. Poetic.

We waited impatiently for a response. It wasn’t as if we knew where they were, other than close to Cicero. I ended up falling asleep for several hours only to jerk awake when my phone rang. “Dean?”

“Yeah. Why’d you call?”

“Because Lisa called me! What the fuck is going on?”

At my shouting, Bobby snorted awake from his desk. “That them?”

I nodded as Dean answered. “Nothing. It’s over. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t—“ I took a moment to reign in my temper. “Dean, Lisa’s pissed. And worried. But mostly pissed.”

“Shit.” I waited impatiently for his cogs to turn. “Look, we ran into some vamps. The Alpha’s got them recruiting, hard. You know those Twilight books?”

“Yes.” Josie had been obsessed with them. I thought they were just tripe. After I’d discovered what the reality was those books became absolutely hilarious.

“This dick was luring in girls pretending to be a knockoff of that Pattinson dude.”

“Huh.” As far as strategies went, that was actually kind of smart.

“Anyways, we got him. It’s done.”

“That still doesn’t explain Lisa.” I waited again. “Dean?”

“Sam let me get turned into a vampire!”

“What?” No. He _couldn’t_ have.

“I got jumped and he fucking…” Dean’s voice shook. “He fucking stood there and let me get turned. I… I didn’t realize until later.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” How bad was Sam getting?

“Eva?” Bobby asked. I’d forgotten he was sitting there. “The hell is going on?”

I waved a hand to shut him up. “And now?”

I pulled my phone away from my ear as Dean began yelling. “Now I gotta pretend everything’s all right when I’m sitting next to a frigging PSYCHOPATH! What the FUCK am I supposed to do, huh? Be ALL OKAY with this?”

Ow, my ears. “I meant the vampirism, idiot.”

Dean took a deep breath, presumably to calm himself down. “Samuel had a cure. I’m fucking human, which is a _lot_ more than I can say for Sam!”

Bobby held his hand out insistently. I handed the phone over and listened as he asked, “Dean? What the hell—“ Wincing, Bobby listened as Dean shouted at him about his stint as a bloodsucker. “If you’re so worried, then come on back here. We can figure something out.” A short pause while Dean said whatever. “It’s up to you, son. Door’s open.”

“Well?” I asked as Bobby hung up.

“He said he just needed to vent some steam. Guess he thinks he’ll be fine.”

“How is _any_ of that fine?” Stupid, stubborn pretty boy.

“No idea. It ain’t like we can force them to do what’s best. They gotta figure it out on their own.”

Nothing much more to say other than that, but if Sam did _anything_ else to Dean I was going to find them and do my own cavity search for the asshole’s soul.

* * *

The second happened while I was walking to a doctor’s appointment. “Dean? What is it?”

“Hey,” he said jauntily, “I gotta ask. Who was better? Me or Sam?”

“Well, we only slept together that one time and we were both pretty messed up. I mean, it was _good_ but not _great_ , and me and your brother had sex way more often. God, he’s got _such_ stamina and the things he can do with those monster fingers of his—“ Hold up. “Why the _fuck_ am I telling you all this?”

“Uh… I’m kind of cursed. I was just testing it.”

“Are you shitting me? I’m not your fucking guinea pig! In fact, I’m not sure what I am to you two! Am I just your friend? Is it something more? Do either of you even care what happens to me? I’m not just some—“ Agh! “For the love of God _hang up the phone_!” The call cut abruptly. I was going to throttle Dean when he came around again.

I thought that was the end of it, but as I was walking home (baby was fine, got a couple of new ultrasounds to share with Grandpa Bobby and Auntie Jody) Lisa called me. “Hey.”

“Eva?”

Duh. “It’s me.” Her voice was unsteady. “What’s wrong?”

“Me and Dean. It’s over.”

Uh oh. “Did he call you? And you answered, like, way too frigging honestly?”

“ _I_ called _him_.” Crap. “I told him what I really felt, about what he did to Ben and Sam and everything. It… It just won’t work.” Her words cracked. “I can’t do this.” She sniffed. “I mean, maybe if I was like you and I was hunting and in that world… but I’m not.”

Yeah, and I really doubt she would want to be. “I know.”

“Can we still be friends?”

Eh, why not. “Of course.”

Lisa sighed. “Thank you. I… I need to talk to Ben. Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

After that, Lisa would text me sporadically, but without Dean to hold us together we honestly had very little in common. I didn’t tell her about the baby and, several weeks in, she shared that she’d started dating again. We saw each other in person several months later but it in no way a happy reunion.

* * *

It was right after Dr. Youngman let me know that my little bean was a boy that things went to shit again. I was in the bedroom trying to figure out which pants I could still wear over my bump and which pants had to be stored when the Impala rumbled down the dirt road. To my surprise it left fairly soon afterwards. When I got downstairs (yoga pants still fit and I had a few loose t-shirts) I found Sam and Bobby having an uncomfortably silent beer in the kitchen. “Where’s Dean?”

“Needed to run an errand,” said Sam. “Kid still there?”

I pointed to my expanding middle. “Does it look like it’s gone anywhere?”

“Oh. Well, there you go. Beer?”

“Sam!” Bobby snapped.

I smacked Sam on the back of his fluffy coif on my way to the fridge. Baby boy wanted some leftover Chinese food. I grabbed the orange chicken and a pair of disposable chopsticks and headed for the porch to eat. There was no way I was going to willingly subject myself to that tension in there.

I’d discovered a swinging bench under all the junk Bobby had kept in front of his door. Judging by the faded painted flowers it had been his wife’s idea. As the woman had been possessed and later killed it was understandable that Bobby would want it buried. But since he didn’t have a lick of A/C and I liked watching the rain I insisted it be there for me to use. A few throw pillows from the local thrift shop and the thing was downright comfy.

I stretched my legs out and let the slight breeze rock me back and forth as I ate. The boy did his tiny little fluttering thing in approval. You’re welcome, kiddo.

I hadn’t yet thought of a name. Dean was convinced it should be Dean Jr., Sam countered with Sam Jr. (since, you know, it was actually his), and Bobby liked Robert. I swear to god these guys had egos the size of barns. As a matter of fact, I was leaning towards naming him after my brother: Alexander. It made me happy to think that maybe my boy would be able to live the life my brother didn’t.

Dean came back a few hours later. I’d polished off my meal and the gentle swinging had lulled me to sleep. Sam’s yelling startled me awake. “It’s _my_ life, it’s _my_ soul. And it sure as hell ain’t _your_ head that’s gonna explode when this whole scheme of yours goes sideways!”

Wonder what that was all about. I massaged stiffened legs and let my feet drop to the porch. By the time I felt I could walk Sam was jogging out the door. He headed into the maze of cars as an irritated Dean emerged. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Sammy went to go find this,” he replied as he pulled Death’s ring from his pocket.

I eyed the thing apprehensively. “Why the hell would he want that?”

“Because it’s the only way to get his soul back.” He sighed. “Before you ask, I made a deal with Death. I wear his ring for a day, he goes into the Cage.”

“And what was that about his head exploding?”

Dean put the real life Deathly Hallow back in his pocket. “You know who’s in there, right?”

“Lucifer.” I thought for a moment. “And Michael, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Two archangels with jack to do other than mess with each other and whoever else is in reach.”

“Oh.” Did that mean that Lucifer and Michael were spending their time kicking Sam and Adam’s souls around? “You said before you went to Hell. Is it… I mean, you said that they gave you options.”

Dean slowly shook his head. “Eva, Sam’s soul is in _Lucifer’s Cage_. Only things that go down there have to do with keeping the Devil locked away.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” He walked away, presumably to lord it over his brother that he’d already grabbed the thing. I sat back down on the swing to wait.

The pair returned several minutes later and went inside. They had a brief conversation with Bobby before Dean reemerged. “Heading out?” I asked pleasantly.

“Yup.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m gonna need it.” Dean walked out to the dirt road and pulled out the ring. I could faintly hear him mutter, “Well, here goes everything,” before he was suddenly gone.

Well, had to wait to see if he could pull it off. I grabbed my Chinese food leavings and headed inside to toss it. Sam bumped into me on his way out of the door and earned his flannel a sticky orange stain. He grimaced down at it. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. The hell you going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Out.” Sam continued on his way.

That wasn’t suspicious or anything. I peered after him, wanting to follow, but now that I had a bump riding my motorcycle was uncomfortable. As in: if there was even a drop of liquid in my bladder I’d spend the entire time trying not to piss my pants. Sam was taking off in Bobby’s one working truck, so I was stuck.

When I got inside I discovered Bobby on the couch catching up on sleep. I tossed my garbage and shrugged. Wasn’t anything I could do for now.

I went the lazy route for dinner and ordered a pizza. The delivery man’s knock woke up Bobby. We rounded out the meal with a couple of lemon-lime sodas (his had a dollop of vodka in it) and tucked in. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.

I shrugged. “He said, and I quote, ‘Out.’”

“Well, that ain’t suspicious or nothing.”

Guess I knew where my paranoia came from. I put the leftovers in the fridge and Bobby pulled out a set of cards and some chips. It was one of our more sedate activities: seeing who could out-cheat the other person at poker. We’d bet ridiculously high while he slipped aces and face cards into his cuffs and I counted cards.

Sam came back in the middle of our second hand. I was gathering my winnings and laughing both at the fact that Bobby’s was pouting and the sight of the king of diamonds poking out from his sleeve. The arrival of the younger Winchester killed my mirth. I occupied myself with quietly stacking chips.

“Woke up and you were gone,” Bobby said casually. “Where you been?”

“Just driving around,” Sam replied. “No biggie.”

Uh-huh. Sure. Sam opened the fridge, helped himself to some leftovers, and sat down. “Deal me in,” he said genially.

Bobby gave him a thin smile and started passing out cards. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and tried to concentrate on my hand and not on how vile it felt to be near Sam. Pair of aces, nice. Except I caught (barely) Bobby palming the third one. Either he had another ace on him or some kind of flush. Really low odds on my end to get that fourth ace. “I’m out.” I stood and stretched.

“Where you headin’ to?”

“My favorite room in the house.” The bathroom.

“Ah.”

As I was washing up I heard the thump of a body hitting the floor. “Bobby…?” I called.

Somebody was walking quickly towards me. I locked the door. “Bobby?”

Something screeched across the floor. By the way the door shook I assumed that it had been a chair of some sort and that it was now lodged under the handle. I unlocked the door and pulled. Goddamnit, I hate being right.

I slammed my palm on the wood. “Sam!” I shouted. “Let me out right fucking now!”

I continued banging for a while but got no response. There were no other exits available. Bobby’s bathroom was just big enough for the necessities, including the bare requirements for ventilation. I would have been able to slip through that tiny window several months ago, but there was no way that was happening in my current condition.

In the end I just slumped down and waited. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what Sam was planning to do or why. From what I could make out it seemed like Sam was attacking Bobby. But why?

Oh. Wait. This was _Bobby Singer’s_ house. I’d bet my last dollar that there was a weapon of some sort in every damn room, _including_ the bathroom.

I swung open the cabinet under the sink. Taped right on the inside were two blades, one steel and one silver. I suppose a gun would have gotten a little cranky in the humidity. Since I doubted Sam had gotten himself turned into anything in the last hour I claimed the steel. Just in time, too; as soon as I had gotten used to the knife’s balance someone scraped away the chair blocking my exit. “Eva?”

It was Bobby. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just let me out.”

He was considerably more disheveled than the last time I’d seen him. “Sam’s tryin’ to kill me for some goddamn reason. C’mon.”

Bobby swapped my knife for a handgun and led the way. I peered around corners and into shadows. “Don’t you have contingency plans for this kind of shit?”

“Yeah,” he replied as we stepped outside, “and Sam went and got around ‘em. Blood.”

I spotted the dark splotch in the dirt at about the same time. “Nailed him once at least.”

“Didn’t slow him down none.” Bobby turned to me. “You go on back inside.”

“What? No!” These dicks and their sense of chivalry.

“Eva, you got more than yourself to worry about now.”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me.” Asshole.

He gave me a small smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. “Head on back and lock yourself in the basement. Close up the panic room, that’s how he got out. Don’t worry. I can handle Sam.”

“Fine. I hate this fucking plan, by the way.”

“Yeah, I ain’t too fond of it either.”

I walked quickly towards the house as Bobby followed the trail around the cars towards his shed. Maybe… Maybe this would be all right. I mean, Bobby wasn’t stupid and Dean should be back at any minute, right? So there was nothing really to worry about.

Of course that’s when the thunk of metal hitting bone and Bobby’s cry of pain flew across the yard.

Fuck me.

As quickly and quietly as I could I snuck over to the shed. Bobby was lying there face first into the dirt, a mat of blood on the back of his head. I paused a bit to feel for a pulse. It was there, relatively strong.

Unfortunately, that was precisely what Sam had been waiting for. I heard him running at me and aimed the gun too late; a second later he had kicked it away and smacked his right fist into my head. His left followed. I landed on all fours, vision swimming.

Oh God. Oh God. I had to get up! I had to get up because Sam had no soul and I knew, I just _knew_ he was going to do something terrible, something _awful_ , and I needed to be upright and armed and not crawling on the ground like I was…

Thoughtfully, Sam said, “Might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He kicked me.

Yes, it was right there. Once.

Twice.

After the third time I passed out.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Appointment in Samara” (SPN 6.11).

 **Author’s Note** : The timeline’s fudged a bit, but since we already had the big soulless reveal I couldn’t go in order.


	12. 12

* * *

I came to for a bit with a familiar, painful, wrenching sensation at the bottom of my torso. Through my gasping I could hear: “…Can’t.”

“Well, why not?”

“It’s in _pieces_ , Dean. I cannot rebuild from what is left.”

“What?”

“Pieces. _Shreds_.” My vision and hearing began to fade. Nothing they were saying made sense. Was it my insides they were talking about? “He kicked her so hard and so many times it…”

* * *

The next time I awoke it was in a far more peaceful manner. I blinked blearily, catching sight of only one thing. “Blue.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed in worry. “How do you feel?”

“Mmm.” I couldn’t begin to describe it. Like my head was stuffed in wool. Like everything from my ribs down was sore. Like something, inexplicably, was _missing_.

“Eva?” Dean knelt down next to Cass. “Eva, it’s gonna be okay.”

I couldn’t fathom why he was saying that. Did Sam…? Oh no. “Bobby?”

“I’m fine, darling,” said the man in question. “Don’t you worry about me.”

I shifted my legs a bit. The sheets slid around my skin. “Why’m I naked?”

Dean and Castiel exchanged glances. “There was a lot of blood,” the angel said carefully. “From what happened.”

“Can’t you remember?” Dean added worriedly.

I curled up a bit more… which brought to bear the unusual shape of my belly. It should have been difficult, near impossible perhaps, to get my knees up as far as I did with my baby boy growing in me. My hands brushed against the flattened area below my navel, the area that should have been rounded.

The place where my son should have been.

“Oh. Oh God. Oh no.” My baby. My normality. The boy that would have the life my brother didn’t. Gone.

Dead.

My baby was dead. Kicked to pieces by his own _father_.

My baby would never _be_.

Someone was wailing, screaming. My hair was being pulled. Bobby shoved both Dean and Castiel out of the way to wrap me in a tight embrace.

Until that point I hadn’t realized the sound was coming from _me_.

* * *

I woke up what was apparently several hours later, groggy but calm. Castiel was still there. He was now sitting on a chair, elbows on his knees, arguing with some cranky looking woman in a pantsuit. “I will be there shortly.”

“There is an army awaiting your leadership and you sit here with this… human!”

“Are you not a commander, Rachel? Is it truly necessary that I hold your hand?” He stood and the woman stepped away. “We fight for free will! We fight to be able to make our own decisions! I have decided to stay. I have decided that I will join you soon. _You_ will go back and decide what _you_ must do.”

If angels were prone to pouting I’m pretty sure that’s what Rachel would be doing. Instead, she cast me a scorching glare and flew off.

Castiel looked down at me. “Eva?” I made a small noise in acknowledgement. He knelt so we were eye to eye. “I’m sorry, but I had to put you back to sleep. You wouldn’t stop screaming.”

And with good reason. “How long has it been?”

“You woke up last night. Before that… two days.” He reached into a drawer and handed me a pair of my shorts and what looked like one of Dean’s old t-shirts.

“And?” I asked as I wriggled into the shorts under the blankets.

Thankfully, Castiel was perceptive enough to know what I was asking about. “Dean succeeded. Somewhat. Death was willing to put Sam’s soul back, but…” The angel grimaced.

I quickly stuffed myself into the shirt. “But? What, did Lucifer tag along or something?” Hopefully. It would give me a good excuse to go stab the fucker in the head.

“No. Sam’s soul is… damaged. I cannot imagine the sort of torments he must have endured.”

Shit. Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to go carve his brains out just because he was Sam. “And now?”

“The process was traumatic. Sam has yet to wake.”

Boo. Now I’d have to wait. I wanted him to know _who_ was killing him and _why_. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the panic room.”

I threw my legs over the side of the bed, tried to stand, and immediately collapsed. “What the…?”

The angel helped me to my feet then back onto the mattress. “You lost a great quantity of blood and you have yet to eat. Stay. I will be back.”

Nothing to do after that but wait. My eyes were puffy from crying and I rubbed them vigorously to try and make it subside. Probably didn’t make much of a difference, but they felt a little less like I was carrying balloons on my face.

About ten minutes later Castiel came back with a bowl of steaming oatmeal and a glass of water on a tray. Dean and Bobby were trailing after him. “How ya feelin’, kid?” Bobby asked.

“Like shit,” I replied irritably. Actually, I wasn’t so much pissed at the question as I wanted to grab that bowl of oatmeal and stick my face in it.

Cass saw how my gaze hadn’t strayed from the food he was carrying and put the tray on the nightstand closest to me. I shuffled my way over and tried my best not to inhale what someone had so thoughtfully microwaved for me.

After I’d downed the water Dean plunked down a beer. Bobby started to protest then thought better of it. I popped off the cap and chugged the whole thing down. When I put the bottle down I found the three of them gaping at me. “What?”

“I did not think it was possible for so much to be consumed at once,” Castiel said thoughtfully.

“If you’re gonna puke,” warmed Bobby, “tell me now.”

“I’m fine,” I sighed. In fact, I think the alcohol was making me sleepy. Months of abstinence had apparently killed my tolerance. “I think I need a nap.”

Castiel looked up. “I need to go.”

I grabbed his coat sleeve. “Thank you.” He nodded and gave me the ghost of a smile before whooshing away.

My jaws cracked as I yawned. Bobby snorted and shut the curtains. “Good night, sleeping beauty.”

“I’m…” Dean swallowed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Pretty sure that’s _not_ what he’d planned on saying. Knowing Dean it was probably an apology. “Thanks. Now, get out.” For once, the man obeyed. Bobby shut the door, I flopped back to my pillow, and fell asleep.

By the time I was up again it was night. I felt far more steady. Good thing, too, because the first thing I saw was Rachel lunging at me with an angel blade.

I rolled off of the bed, the point of her stiletto sinking into my pillow. My sword was thankfully still where I’d always left it: sticking out of my bags on the floor. I unsheathed it just in time to meet her downward stroke, my blade slanted across hers. “What the _fuck_ , lady?” I shouted.

“Angels _died_ today because of you!” she snarled at me.

Okay, I was definitely missing a piece of this puzzle. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” With as much strength as I could muster I pushed her away. Unfortunately, that just gave the bitch the opportunity to grab the front of my oversized shirt and throw me through the door. The _closed_ door.

Bobby didn’t skimp on things that could save his life, like well-built weapons, locks, and high quality home workmanship. The door didn’t shatter; it fell off its hinges and deposited me onto the hallway floor. I found my breath knocked clean out of me as my sword skittered away.

Rachel leaned over to pick me up by my neck and held me suspended in the air. “Castiel would not leave your side. He asked me to think for myself and I made the wrong decision!”

I think if angels could cry that’s exactly what she’d be doing. Rachel had dropped the ball, big time, and was looking for the easiest thing to blame other than herself. I guess pinpointing the fact that Castiel had deigned to pay attention to a mere human eased her conscience.

Fortunately, the ruckus we were making got both Bobby and Dean’s attention. The two of them came charging up the stairs, Dean shouting, “Hey!” as soon as they crested the top.

Rachel didn’t care. She was too busy trying to choke me out. Lacking any other recourse, Dean tackled the angel and sent all three of us slamming into the floor. She released her grip and I crawled away, coughing. Dean gave Rachel a good punch to the face, which affected her not at all, and she heaved him off of her with both hands.

As Dean flew into Bobby (the two of them tumbling down the stairs with a whole lot of cursing), I felt my ankle being grabbed. The damn angel was, of course, taller than me and with infuriating ease stood up and dangled me off the floor. She swung my body like a freaking shot-put Olympian and sent me sailing right through the nearest window.

There was a stupid moment where I savored the thrill of being airborne. Then my body smashed into the top of a car and I couldn’t think about anything other than how miraculous it was I hadn’t broken my back. I curled up to protect my head and face as glass rained down.

Wings flapped and stilled. I managed to raise myself just enough to see Rachel in front of me, her blade back in her hand. The only thing I could manage was to roll off of the car roof onto the dirt. I glowered as she grabbed my hair and swung her arm back. If I ended up in Heaven I was going to hunt this bitch down and shove that sword up her ass.

Another set of wings stirred the air. “Enough!”

Rachel threw me to the dirt. “No!” she cried. “The battle was lost because you forced me to do your job! It‘s her fault, her and these _Winchesters_. If they are gone, then you would lead us, always. You could be _free_.”

“I _am_ free,” Castiel said quietly. “I am free to care for both my family in Heaven and my friends on Earth. We are their guardians, Rachel, or have you forgotten?”

Using the car I landed on, I slowly picked myself up to a standing position. “What does humanity have to look forward to if Raphael succeeds?” Rachel scoffed.

Cass stepped towards her, his hands out entreatingly. “I have not abandoned you,” he said. “I _will not_ abandon you. But you must allow me to continue the work our Father gave us.”

Rachel shook her head. “Our _Father?_ Are you so delusional that you cannot see what is right the front of you? God abandoned us long ago! You are blind, Castiel, and we are _suffering_ because of it.”

Cass was too busy looking into his fellow angel’s eyes, begging her to understand his intentions, and couldn’t see how Rachel’s fingers tightened around her blade. She was a heartbeat away from impaling him. There was only one incredibly reckless thing to do.

I reached out and yanked on her shoulder, spinning her body around. My fist smacked into her face. Her blade sank into my stomach. She shoved me and my back hit the wreckage. “Stupid, hairless _ape_ ,” Rachel snarled.

Castiel surged forward, his own blade bared. Rather than plunge it into her back, however, he wrapped his arm around her neck. “Enough!” Castiel cried. “Stop this, please!”

With a furious cry, Rachel grabbed the offending limb, pulled, and threw Cass to the ground. It gave me the opportunity to pull out the weapon imbedded in me and plant it into her back.

Rachel turned, her eyes wide with surprise. I staunched my wound with my fingers and gave her a bloody grin. She fell with a scream. I closed my eyes as a bright light emerged from her body. It only lasted a few seconds before fading away.

I slid to the ground with a wet cough. Two familiar fingers touched my head, a breathtakingly painful feeling swept through my torso, and my hurts were gone. I glared. “You have shit friends, Cass.”

“I am sorry. She was… devoted.”

I glanced over to Rachel’s body, her wings burned into the dirt and the shell of a truck. “You didn’t want to kill her.”

“No,” he said, his tone conveying both sadness and frustration. “I don’t want to kill any of them.” The door to Bobby’s house opened and closed. Two figures were hurrying towards us as Castiel cocked his head and stated, “Why did you save me?”

“Because… Because why wouldn’t I?”

“I am not human.”

“So? Doesn’t mean I can’t care for you.”

“‘Care for me’,” he repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the validity of my claim. We gazed at one another. He was puzzled, I was getting self-conscious… and nervous. Not the same sort of nervous you get on a hunt, the kind you get when you see someone you…

Oh, _hell_ no. Closing the door on that right now.

“Eva!” Dean called as he and Bobby skidded to a halt beside me. “You okay?”

“Fine, I—“ The air swirled, disturbed by Castiel’s sudden departure. I shrugged before standing up and brushing off dirt and rust.

“What was that all about?” Bobby demanded.

“Free will biting the bitch in the ass.”

“Well, no one ever said it’d be easy.” The older man sighed. “Go on, girl, get back to bed. Dean, get a shovel. We got a body to bury.”

“Good times,” Dean said flatly as he went to retrieve the tools. I gave Bobby a quick little smile before picking my way back to the house. Rachel hadn’t bothered letting me get my shoes on and the salvage yard was chock full of crap that had to be soaked in tetanus. I made it safely inside and headed back to my room.

Unfortunately, despite my exhaustion I was now too keyed up to sleep. I made sure I could still hear Dean and Bobby still shoveling and snuck downstairs. From Bobby’s desk drawer I grabbed a blade. Since it was the old, paranoid hunter’s it was kept sharp enough to split hairs. Good enough to slit someone’s throat with barely any effort.

Fuck Sam being awake. Seeing his blood pool on the floor would be satisfying enough.

I padded my way down the basement stairs and opened the panic room. It made a terrific grating noise; hopefully it wasn’t loud enough to alert the others. There, lying prostrate, looking relatively innocent, was Sam fucking Winchester.

Hunter. Murderer. Rapist. Guilty of _filicide_. I was victim, judge, jury, and now I was going to be the executioner.

Except… when I got close enough to see his face, there was some undefinable difference. There was a calm, a sense of completeness, to him, as if the cold chasm that had been his heart was now emanating warmth like the rest of us. It’s hard to explain. Maybe it was just the fact that I was actually seeing him sleep. After all, he’d never stayed in my bed long enough to let me see him do so. Or maybe it was the fact that he was ostensibly back to being Sam, the one who’d selflessly thrown himself into Lucifer’s Cage, the one who trusted a lonely, broken hunter to watch his and his family’s backs. The hero. _The good man_.

Fuck it.

I moved forward… and was bear-hugged from behind. “Damnit, girl!” Bobby shouted. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“What the fuck does it look like?” I shrieked, furious that my revenge had been sidelined.

Another set of hands, Dean’s, twisted the knife out of my grip. “You can’t,” he said.

“He deserves it. He deserves _more_.” I began to scream. “HE NEEDS TO FUCKING DIE!”

“I know.” Dean’s voice was soft, resigned. “But I can’t let you. He’s my brother and I… I can’t.”

I went limp in Bobby’s arms. Thinking I had given in, he released me. It was a mistake. As soon as I was free I jumped onto Sam’s body and began throttling him. Bobby and Dean began shouting at me, prying at my fingers and pushing, but I was having none of it. Sam’s face was just turning a satisfying shade of purple when one of them punched me in the temple.

This time when I woke up it was daylight. For some godforsaken reason I was upright. Then I realized I was tied to a chair. “Seriously?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Bobby demanded.

“Let me finish what I started.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happenin’.” The older man sighed. “Look, I know what Sam did was unforgivable. Hell, I had to restrain myself a couple’a times. But if he really is back to being Sam, and I mean the _real_ Sam, he’s not gonna be the same person.”

I tested the ropes under my fingers. Goddamnit. One of these two jackasses really knew how to tie a knot. “I don’t care how you or his stupid fucking brother see it. He killed my baby. I’m going to make him pay one way or the other.”

“Which is why you’re still sittin’ there trussed up, sweetheart. Until you calm down, we ain’t lettin’ you go.”

“Can you at least let me go pee?”

Bobby stared at me, eyebrows lifted. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Damnit. It was worth a try.

* * *

I spent another few hours that way. Eventually, Dean took pity on me, but he and Bobby began rotating shifts watching over Sam. I could have, theoretically, killed or crippled either of them to get to the man, but I wasn’t quite blinded enough by revenge to go that route.

They were blameless. In fact, the only person other than Sam who held more blame for what happened to me was _me_ … and, it turned out, Castiel. It would be months before I’d find out, but it would turn out that his hubris was what had led to Sam being pulled from the Cage without his soul. At this point, however, all I could think about was how I’d acquiesced, how I didn’t fight back, how I apparently _enjoyed_ my time as Sam’s whore. What had happened to me was a product of my own weakness and made the death of my baby my own fault.

I began spending a lot of time alone practicing my archery and assembling my own arrows. Dean and Bobby might stand around and field-strip their guns, but I was trying to get back to my old mindset. No more fantasizing about some white picket fence, single-mother, apple pie life. I needed to go back to where I’d been pre-Winchesters; on the trail of Louie Lee and killing as many fanged motherfuckers on the way as I could.

Both men tried to talk to me, but I was having none of it. Bobby I simply ignored. Dean was more insistent, at least until I blacked his eye. After that both of them left me alone.

Unfortunately, Bobby was a stubborn son of a bitch. He called for backup.

“Hey there, Katniss!”

The arrow I’d been aiming went wild, piercing through the canopy and landing who knows where. I lowered my bow and stared at my company, nonplussed.

Jody Mills lifted her eyebrows at me. She was still in full county sheriff regalia, badge and all, one hand reflexively sitting on her service revolver. “I take the Katniss comparison back.”

“Who?”

“It’s from this… young adult novel. One of the dispatchers leant it to me, said it was worth the read, even if it’s meant for her teenage kids. Heard they’re making a movie.”

I had no freaking clue what she was talking about, or what she was doing there. “Okay?”

The woman sighed and abandoned her attempt at small talk. “Look, Bobby called me here, asked me to talk to you.”

I threw my bow onto the detritus. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Why can’t they leave me alone?”

“Because, Eva, they care about you.” Jody’s eyes flicked to my midriff. “I heard what happened,” she added quietly.

“Yeah, well, nothing I can do about it now.” I sat down on a tree trunk that I’d designated my personal resting spot a few days earlier. “So thanks, but no thanks.”

The sheriff shook her head. “Scoot,” she demanded. I knew her well enough to realize she’d sit on me if I didn’t move. Luckily, the trunk was large and the two of us were relatively small. “I know what it’s like.”

“What it’s like to what?” I wondered irritably.

“To lose a child.” I became preoccupied with stemming a bout of tears and didn’t answer. Jody kept talking. “Happened last year. Well, no. It happened a couple of years before that, and then _again_ last year.”

The tears were effectively stifled by my confusion. I gave an indelicate sniff. “Wait, what?”

Jody bit her lip, searching for the right words. It was the first time I’d seen her vulnerable. Most of the time she put on a good front: the tough, female sheriff of her district here to kick ass and take names. This was the woman beneath the uniform, and she had a mountain of pain to climb.

She told me about her experience during the Apocalypse. How the dead rose in Sioux Falls. How she and her husband were overjoyed to see their son returned to them. How the dead began to deteriorate, go mad with hunger. How her son _ate his father_. And how Sam was forced to put down her little boy.

By the end of her story tears were falling freely down both of our faces. “I’m so sorry,” I finally said.

“It’s okay,” Jody replied. “But I just wanted to let you know that there was someone out here who really understands. I mean, _really_ understands.” She thumbed towards the house. “They’ve all had losses, too, but none of them have ever lost their own child. It’s not something you _get_ unless you’ve actually had it happen.”

I let silence stretch between us as I stared up at the sky. Eventually, I managed to choke out, “I wanted… I _hoped_ that I could have this kid and maybe, _just maybe_ , I could forget this hunting shit and go back to being me. Stupid, I know, but before…” I didn’t want to burden Jody with my past and spent a few moments trying to figure out how to summarize my experience. “Before I was… _hurt_ I was going to school. I had a family. I had the same plan everyone else had, to graduate and get a job and get married and have two-point-five kids. And now it’s like it’ll never happen. I’m stuck in this, forever.”

“You really think so?”

I gave a watery chuckle and used my sleeve to wipe my eyes. “I’m friends with an angel. The King of Hell knows who I am. I know the _Winchesters_. Even if I ran off and tried to hide myself how could I forget any of this? How could I just go be a _person_ when I know that the things in the closet are real?”

Jody took my hand and grasped it right. “It seems all bleak now, but don’t lose hope. You’re young, you’re pretty, and honestly? Fuck all those guys.”

The unexpected profanity sent me into a peal of giggles, one that dissolved into sobs. I collapsed into Jody’s arms and she held me as I let go of my anger and truly mourned the loss of my baby boy.

* * *

PWhen Bobby and Dean found me cooking a batch of hamburgers for them they were immensely relieved. I still hadn’t forgiven either myself or Sam, but I was far less homicidal. Dinner went off pleasantly enough and all of us went to bed without fearing for anyone’s lives.

There was an uneasy truce between myself and Dean. And, perhaps, something a little more. We’d shared a night together, once, which made every accidental brush, every glance bring back memories. I wouldn’t fall back into his bed until far later, however. I was still too raw, physically and emotionally, from what his brother had done to me and Dean was drowning in his own sense of guilt over the incident.

Thankfully, Bobby resumed acting like a curmudgeon again, snapping at idiots over the phone and grumbling half-heartedly over having too much long-term company. It was a beacon of normalcy that offset the fact that his panic room remained occupied and wasn’t looking to be empty anytime soon. We were all compartmentalizing, and when Sam did finally wake up it went worse than it should have.

Ten days after Sam had gone under I went downstairs yawning, still wearing sleep shorts and one of Dean’s shirts (what? They were comfortable), and found Bobby and Dean having whiskey in the living room. “Lushes.”

Rather than fire back like I expected, Dean continued sipping. I lifted my eyebrows at Bobby, who shrugged. “Want one?”

“Sure.” He grabbed a glass from a drawer and poured me a shot. I downed it and gave a cough. Damn Bobby and his cheap liquor.

I knew why they were indulging so early in the morning: Sam’s unrelenting coma. So many days had passed without the man doing much more than breathe that they were losing hope. Cass came in a few times to make sure Sam wasn’t atrophying or straight up dying from the lack of proper nutrients, but other than that there was no indicator of Sam’s wellbeing. Oddly enough, the angel reported that Dean’s brother _wasn’t_ suffering through the same issues a normal comatose person would. Death must have done something to keep his body alive until his consciousness returned.

I went to the kitchen to make coffee. The pair started discussing a potential case, something about a crashed plane whose male passenger had been found seventeen miles away, flambeed, and whose female passenger was just gone. I had poured myself a cup, the heavenly aroma clearing away the remnants of Bobby’s rotgut, and was bringing it to my lips when I heard it.

“Dean.”

Shit.

I couldn’t move. Thankfully I had already put down the coffee pot or that would have gone everywhere. The three of them were having an emotional reunion. I heard Sam, the _real_ Sam, exclaim in wonder at the sight of Bobby, alive, and then, in the vein, expressed relief that Castiel was alive, too.

With a shaking hand I put down the mug. Coffee burned my skin. I leaned against the counter and clenched my fists. Water dropped down onto my knuckles from I had no idea where… _Goddamnit_. It was coming from me.

My shoulders shook with the effort of trying to bottle up my misery. Dean and I had assumed that when Sam woke up he’d be incapacitated; his days of convalescence making him, at the very least, disoriented. Once someone heard his voice calling from his bed Dean could go take care of his brother and I could hop on my bike and be gone. But of course, there the guy was, walking and talking as if he’d just gotten up from a nap, no consideration for the fact that he was the last person on Earth I wanted to see.

“Eva!”

Fuck.

I turned around. “Sam.”

He reached out to hug me and I flinched. His face reflected only bewilderment. “I guess… um… we don’t… is there something wrong?”

I narrowed my eyes. “‘Is there something wrong’? Are you _shitting_ me?”

“Sam,” Dean said cautiously as he entered the room. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The field,” Sam replied after a moment. “And then I fell.”

“Okay, and then?”

“I woke up in the panic room.”

This was just… I started laughing, I couldn’t help it. All those months of torment at this fucker’s hands and he didn’t remember one goddamn thing. I was laughing and crying and if someone didn’t stop me soon I was going to need a straight jacket and a rubber room. Sam reached out, concerned, and I slapped his hand away. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me,” I snarled.

Dean came up and tried to pull me away. “Eva, don’t—“

“No!” I jerked my arm out of his grasp. “He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get a pass because of… of stupid fucking amnesia. This isn’t something you just let him forget!”

Sam looked like a little (large) lost puppy. “What’s going on?”

Dean and I were busy having a glaring contest. “Tell him,” I uttered finally. “ _Or I will_.”

I stomped my way upstairs and slammed my bedroom door. If Dean really did what I asked then I should get a visit soon from an overgrown coma patient. In the meantime I needed to dress, do my morning ablutions, and pack. No way in _hell_ was I going to stick around. Maybe I’d go check out that burning man.

It had to be about an hour later when Sam finally knocked. I was zipping up my jacket and didn’t bother responding. If he was anything like his brother he was going to come barging in anyways.

The door opened. Sam was quiet. I turned my back to him and pretended to fiddle with my bags. The creak of bedsprings told me where he’d sat. “I don’t know how to even begin.”

“What did they tell you?” I asked.

“That… That I’ve apparently been walking around without a soul. That we were sleeping together. That I did something terrible.”

“But they didn’t tell you what.”

“Um. No. I guess if I scratch too hard at this wall Death put up it’ll… it’ll be bad.”

My hand drifted to my lower belly. That motherfucking brother of his… I bit my lip to stifle a sob and failed. When I heard the bedsprings again, I snatched my bag and swept out the door. “Wait!” Sam cried.

I could barely see the stairs through my tears. Dean was at the bottom. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell—“

I smashed my fist into his face. “Go back to fucking Hell, Dean.”

Bobby was standing in the doorway to the living room, arms folded. He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t interfere. I’m sure Dean glossed over his brother’s attempts at patricide as well. I gave the older man a goodbye nod. He returned it solemnly. About five minutes later I was making my way out of Sioux Falls at a speed Sheriff Mills would probably toss me in jail for.

What happened next was nobody’s fault but mine. I was blinded by tears, and there was no way to wipe them away with my helmet on, but I couldn’t think past the desire to just get as far away as possible. The hour was early enough that I didn’t think too many people were going to be on the road, therefore when the minivan pulled onto the highway just a bit too slow off the approaching exit ramp I was unprepared.

I yanked the handlebars to the left. My front wheel swerved back and forth uncontrollably before giving up all together. I let go as my bike went down, flying several feet before slamming into the concrete. Instinctively, as I would have if I’d been thrown by something I was hunting, I rolled. Other cars were slamming on their brakes, and by some miracle I avoided being run over by anyone.

My body crunched into the central divider. I couldn’t hear anything, just a roar. Someone was pulling my helmet off, their voice in a panic. They were shoved aside. I smiled in recognition, the blood in my mouth falling from my slightly parted lips. Before I blacked out, I said the only thing I could think of.

“Blue.”


	13. 13

* * *

I was getting used to waking up to the angel’s worried face, so much so that I deliriously thought it might be pleasant to wake up to it all the time. “How are you feeling?” he asked me worriedly.

“Sore,” I said truthfully. Nothing felt broken, but there was an ache to my muscles and bones. “Where are we?”

“My house,” Bobby said from the doorway. “Again.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m gettin’ real tired of you bleeding on my bed.”

I gave a shrug from under my blankets. “Where’s Dean?” Wasn’t ready to ask about the _other_ Winchester yet.

“I made them go. Told them their lives depended on it.” Good precaution on Bobby’s part. I was ready to castrate one and gut the other; either way, goodbye future Winchesters. It was a nice, happy thought.

“Well,” Bobby continued, “seeing as how you been endin’ up here anyways I figured you might as well call this your room, give you a place to call home.”

I sat up, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yup. Welcome to my humble abode. Rent’s due on the first of the month.” I gave him the finger. “Yeah, yeah. But there is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Sam and Dean come here often,” Castiel answered.

Guess life can’t be perfect. Or close to perfect. Or, you know, full of good things at any point in time. “Then I’ll just have to be here when they’re _not_.”

“Sure,” Bobby said genially. “Meantime, looks like you need a new ride. Again.”

“May I make a request?” Castiel asked. “Please, not another motorcycle.”

I gave him a dirty look. I mean, it was my ride, not his; he had his own method of transport. Then again, who knew whether or not he’d be there the next time I went out of control. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” And he was gone. The angel was getting really adept at these sudden departures.

“You rest,” Bobby ordered.

“Yes, _dad_.”

The old hunter snorted and closed the door. I was left in the late afternoon semi-darkness to stew about everything that had happened the past several weeks. Losing my baby and almost dying in the process. Nearly getting murdered by a hysterical angel. Jody’s talk. Sam’s resurrection, or rebirth, or whatever you wanted to call it. And me nearly becoming a red stain on I–90. I was ready for a break.

Hold up.

I sat up in the bed and ran my fingers through my hair. Why the hell did _Castiel_ care what I drove? What did it matter to him if I decided to wander about in a one-woman death trap?

I was coming to a wary conclusion about his concern, and it wasn’t something I liked. Maybe I was just reading too far into things; after all, Cass might also ask similar things from Sam and Dean. You know, please stop throwing yourself into self-sacrificing situations; it’s really wearing on my feathers.

Yeah, that was it. No reason to think he felt anything more for me than he did for them. No reason at all.

* * *

I spent a week recovering, both physically and psychologically, before getting back on the road. In the meantime I lavished Bobby with home-cooked meals and a clean home. It’s amazing how much filth the man can accumulate in a short period of time.

I acquiesced to Castiel’s request, mostly. Instead of a motorcycle I managed to find an old Corvette convertible from the seventies hovering on the edge of the scrapyard. It had no paint and a messed up interior, but the frame was good (including the wheel rims) and the engine mostly so. Just needed a few replacement parts and it was good to go.

It took Bobby and I a few weeks, but we managed to get the car not only road-worthy, but hunter-equipped as well. Hidden compartment in the trunk, easy access behind the driver’s seat for emergency weaponry, and enough horsepower to get me a felony in most stated. There was only one weird event during that time, and of course it involved the Winchesters.

It happened after I’d come back to Bobby’s from a supply run. The stupid thing was supposed to take thirty minutes and ended up taking _three hours_ because we were in the middle of a horrific storm. It still fascinates me how extreme the weather is outside of California. We basically have spring, summer, slightly colder summer, and rain. This whole thing where it’s raining so hard I couldn’t see two feet in front of me? Never saw it before I started hunting. However, driving like an idiot in the rain seems to be a universal trait; a pileup in the middle of town had traffic crawling.

I drove up to the house and was surprised to see the living room window shattered. Sioux Falls wasn’t a big town by any means which meant almost everybody knew that the crazy drunk who owned the salvage yard had the propensity to shoot first and ask questions later. Bobby, however, was two states over helping with some odd Japanese monster that hadn’t been seen on these shores in… well, ever. Either there was an ambush waiting or there was someone really stupid ransacking the place.

The door creaked open when I pushed. In one hand I had my sword, the other had the sheathe. No one. I checked upstairs, downstairs, even the basement and panic room. Empty.

After storing my blade, I grabbed a spare sheet from my room as well as a hammer and some nails from the basement. Sure, Bobby would probably be able to repair the window in a more permanent manner, but in the meantime his living room was being soaked.

I got only one corner up before I abruptly had company.

“Cass,” Sam said angrily, “what the hell?”

I dropped the blanket and the nails and just barely stopped myself from braining him with the hammer. “Shit!”

“Eva?” Dean asked, bewildered. “The real Eva?”

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, equally bewildered. What kind of question was that?

Sam, fortunately, was too preoccupied with Castiel to notice his near-death experience. “Wait, you were in on this? Using us a diversion?”

“It was Balthazar’s plan,” Cass replied. Who the hell was Balthazar? “I would have done the same thing.”

“That’s not comforting, Cass,” Dean growled.

I hadn’t seen the angel in a while, not since he’d scraped me off the freeway. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen the Winchesters since then either, and the sight of all three of them suddenly standing there had abject fury and a rather irritating surge of desire battling for dominance.

“When will I be able to make you understand?” Castiel snarled as I got my brain and libido under control. “If I lose against Raphael, we _all_ lose. _Everything_.”

“Yeah, Cass, we know the stakes. That’s about all you’ve told us!”

The angel’s face was so weary, so tired. It was taking him everything he had not to hang his head in the face of his friends’ anger. The sight effectively shut down everything in me but the fury. “I’m sorry about all this. I’ll explain when I can.”

Cass looked apologetically not at Dean, but at me. I gave him a small, hopefully comforting smile and he was gone.

Dean threw his hands up. “Friggin’ angels.”

As I picked up nails, Sam knocked on the wall closest to him. “Solid.” He gave a great sigh of relief. “It’s real. Nice.”

I slammed the nails and the hammer down onto Bobby’s desk. Both brothers jumped. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Uh, me?” Sam asked hesitantly. “I—“

“Not _you_.” I don’t think it‘s possible to put any more loathing into that little word than I did then. Without looking at Sam I advanced on Dean. “You’re still ragging on Castiel over this shit?”

“You mean the fact that he used us a fucking _distraction_ so he could get Heaven’s weapons?” Dean roared down at me. “And had his buddy throw us into some crazy fucked up dimension while he was at it?”

I blinked up at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

The rain died down as the tale of their foray into a world where their lives were the basis of a _television show_ spilled out of Dean’s lips. While I was some breakout martial-artist-turned-actress and Cass was a spaced out moron named Misha, the Winchesters were the spitting images of two men named Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. The former was married to the actress that had portrayed a demon named “Ruby” (who had been instrumental in getting Sam to pull the final seal on the Cage) and the latter had been on Days of Our Lives. After revealing that gem Dean had to stop talking; I was laughing too hard to hear anything.

“Sorry, sorry,” I managed to choke out. “It’s just the thought of you…” I collapsed into another fit of hysterics.

“Anyways,” Sam said. The sound of his voice killed the remainder of my mirth. “Maybe we should fix the window.”

My abdomen twitched, reacting to the memory of the man’s boot slamming into it. I needed to be out of the room. Now. “Yeah,” I muttered as I headed for the stairs. “You go do that.”

Of course I hadn’t forgiven Sam. I never would. Eventually our relationship would progress to the point where I could trust him, but I would never, _ever_ let him forget what he did. It’s made for a rather complicated friendship, but one that functions well enough that we can depend on one another.

After that meeting, however, Dean was astute enough to realize why I had left; neither of them bothered me. They tacked up the sheet I’d abandoned and, seeing as how the storm had ebbed, went on their way.

But the next time we met there was no escaping the long overdue confrontation between myself and Sam.

* * *

I kept in touch with Samuel and worked a few, nondescript cases with him and Gwen. There was a perceptible change in the man. He was more focused, more grim. When I ventured to ask why, he let me know that Crowley was dead. I was elated, but it also meant that Samuel’s deal to resurrect his daughter was now null and void.

He became all about the end result. It wasn’t to the psychopathic extreme that Sam-sans-soul had exhibited, but it was definitely more about the greater good. If it meant letting one person die to save a dozen? That one person would die. To my chagrin, when I raised a bitch-fit about his tactics Gwen merely followed her granduncle’s lead under the blind assumption that he knew better.

Our last hunt together was a werewolf pack. We’d taken out most of them, but the decision had to be made whether to save a teenaged girl or to go after the clan’s leader. The girl was cut up, tortured (thankfully not turned) for the werewolves’ sadistic pleasure. If she was going to survive, she needed to be carried from the cabin the clan had been using as a den and taken to the hospital. _Now_. However, the pack leader already had a head start; she’d started sprinting through the trees as soon as the last of her brood had died.

Samuel looked at the dying girl and demanded that we leave her. The pack leader had sworn to rebuild her “family”, one way or the other, which made her the priority. The now unconscious teen? She’d bleed out before we could get her anywhere. There was, according to him, nothing we could do for her, but we _could_ prevent others from turning into heart-hungry creatures.

I was having none of it. This was a _life_. Whatever we could do, what little chance there was, we had to _try_.

Both of our voices got so loud and so violent that if the werewolf had circled back to kill us we wouldn’t have heard a thing. It would have come to blows if Gwen hadn’t gasped out that the girl had abruptly come to, her pallor remarkably healthy. As the likelihood of her continued survival had jumped exponentially, Samuel begrudgingly acceded. After insuring that the girl would survive, I told him not to call on me again.

It wouldn’t be the only time that some miracle would occur during a hunt. There was the “noise” a vamp had made sneaking up on me. The surprisingly shallow cut on a survivor’s throat, belying the pool of blood under his body. Not to mention how I’d tripped over something or other and the bloodsucker that was launching himself at me ended up impaling himself on a protruding branch.

I was being followed. I was sure of it. There was this shadowy presence that I kept catching out of the corner of one eye. The only question was whether they were doing this for their benefit or mine. See, if it was for the latter then most likely it was Castiel or one of his brethren. They were probably doing the same for the Winchesters. If it was for the former… well. It meant nothing good.

Because despite Samuel’s despondency and his conviction, I was unconvinced that Crowley was really dead.

I was mopping up another vamp nest when Bobby called about something called the “Mother of All” and to say Rufus had died. He sounded nonchalant, but I knew—

* * *

“Say ‘daddy’. C’mon, say ‘daddy’!”

Three-month-old Alexander screeched, “DAAAAAAA!” in Sam’s face and laughed himself silly. He laughed almost as hard as his uncle who nearly fell off the couch at his brother’s grimace. “Oh my God,” Dean wheezed. “I’m never forgetting that.”

I rolled my eyes as I folded onesies. It was true what Dean had told me; as soon as Sam had gotten his soul back he had turned out to be a great father. There were still issues to be dealt with, but we took as many times as we could to indulge in little family moments like these.

“Don’t get him too riled up,” I warned. “Or _you’re_ putting him down for his nap.”

Sam was looking down on his son with the sappiest expression I’d ever seen. “It’s okay. I’ll do it.”

Castiel, who had been standing near the younger Winchester in order to observe the tiny human, cocked his head over. “I believe he is urinating.”

“Your turn,” Sam happily announced as he handed Alexander to his uncle.

“Daddy thinks I’m scared of diapers,” Dean told his nephew as he stood up. “At least Uncle Dean ain’t afraid of clowns.”

“Do you have to bring that up?”

“It gets funnier every time I do.”

Sam followed his brother to the baby room, the pair bickering the entire way, as Castiel looked heavenward and sighed. “I need to go.”

“Wait!” I cried as I yanked on his sleeve. “You just got here.”

The angel lifted me up to my feet and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’ll be back.”

It was so hard to pin Cass down these days. Maybe I could convince him. “Or you could just stay,” I whispered as I pulled gently at the knot of his tie.

The angel shook his head reluctantly. “I have my duty. Raphael is still battling my forces. Without help—“

“Yeah, yeah,” I said playfully. I batted him on the chest with the back of my hand. “Just go.”

Once I was alone, I resumed folding and gave an exasperated sigh. “How long are you going to sit there like an alcoholic lump?”

“Long as I want,” Bobby grumbled from his desk.

I rolled my eyes. Ellen would be home soon enough; she’d kick his ass right into shape. In the meantime, from the sounds of the excited shrieks coming from upstairs, I had two men and a baby to wrangle before I could have a moment of peace.

* * *

Sam and Dean did their best to get Bobby out of the house and join them on their most recent case but to no avail. They were going on the assumption that some sort of family curse had gone haywire (bunch of blood relatives dying in weird ways) and wanted the backup. Bobby practically shoved them out the door before continuing to pickle his liver. I couldn’t wait for his wife to return and knock some sense into him.

As predicted, Ellen Singer welcomed her husband home by putting her shotgun at his chest and berating him for his bodily odor. After Bobby left the room, grudgingly acquiescing to her demand to go clean up, Ellen put down her supplies and held her arms out. “Now you go on and give me that grandson of mine so I can give him a big ol’ hug.”

Despite the rather unsavory way he had been conceived, Mrs. Singer had immediately lavished all her matronly affection on my son, fueled by the knowledge that it was unlikely that Jo would have children anytime soon. Of course, the woman wasn’t in any way related by blood to Alexander, but Bobby was the Winchesters’ adopted father and Ellen was Bobby’s wife; therefore she had no compunctions about appointing herself “grandma.”

I handed over a squealing baby and began unpacking the paper bags. “You missed me,” Ellen cooed. “Yes you did.” In the same tone, she asked, “Was Grandpa Bobby bein’ a miserable ol’ bump on a log?”

I shelved some canned chili. “If you mean a bump on a log that someone spilled a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on, then yes.”

“Gone for a week and this place goes completely to hell.”

“Hey, it’s not like he ever listens to me.”

“I know, darling. I know. Don’t worry, I’ll get him straightened out right quick.”

* * *

While I was getting Alex down for his nap, Ellen got a call from Jo. Apparently the same thing Sam and Dean were after was happening out in California. I helped Ellen chop vegetables as she called the Winchesters and gave them the info.

Bobby came down as the stew was just beginning to boil, his arms full of crying baby, and took over chopping duties. I comforted Alexander as Ellen was asking the brothers, “The Titanic. Ever heard of it?” A moment later she added, “Yeah, me neither. I’ll keep digging.”

The call ended. “Titanic what?” I asked as Alex began to pull happily on my hair.

“Name of a boat,” Ellen said. “Guess you didn’t hear me while the little man here was making a ruckus.” She gave the baby a big smooch on the cheek. “All the ancestors of those victims came over on it in 1912.”

“So?”

She shrugged. “Only thing that connects ‘em. Maybe just a big ol’ coincidence, who knows.”

* * *

We had a normal dinner, Bobby took over Alex duties (for some reason the baby really liked yanking on his beard), and I began to do research. In between making ridiculous noises, Bobby directed me to the right volumes and continued to gripe about Ellen not letting him have any more alcohol. She was busy cleaning up after dinner and thankfully didn’t hear him; I wouldn’t ever want to scrape middle-aged male brain off of a frying on.

I hadn’t found anything by the time Alexander needed to go to bed, so Bobby took over. In the morning, I was surprised to see him still in the same shirt as yesterday. “Did you move at all?”

He jumped. _Bobby Singer jumped_. Whatever he had discovered had unnerved him enough that he’d lost his constant sense of vigilance. Rather than answer my question, however, he asked for coffee. Oh well. Ellen would pull out whatever was up his ass.

I was surprised to get a phone call about an hour later, just as Alexander was waking up. “Sam?”

“Uh, yeah. Hey, Eva. I just… I wanted to, um, talk to Alex.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second to give it a baffled look. “Why? I’m damn sure that’s not going to be much of a conversation.”

“Please?”

Bemused, I hit the speakerphone. “Say ‘hi’ to daddy.”

“Hi, baby,” Sam cooed through the phone. His son let out a series of random happy noises in response. “Daddy loves you, Alex. No matter what, okay?”

His voice quivered and immediately put me on alert. “You tell me what the hell is going on right now or I swear to God I will shave you bald in your sleep.”

A bit of the panic in his voice now reflected my threat to destroy that mop of his. “I promise to explain when we get back, okay?”

“You better,” I snapped as I ended the call.

I finished prepping Alexander for the day and headed downstairs where Ellen was finishing a call with her daughter. “That was Jo. Thirty more dead on the West Coast. What exactly do those boys think they’re gonna do?”

“It’s the boys,” Bobby replied. “If anybody can pull this out of their ass, it’s those two.”

“Yeah, you ever hear the saying ‘you can’t stop fate’? You know, cleanest fix would just be to sink the boat.”

In a voice laden with horror, Bobby asked, “Why would you say that?”

“Sink what boat?” I interjected.

“The Titanic,” Ellen told me, though her eyes were fixed firmly on her husband. “What the hell is up with you?”

“Nothing,” Bobby answered, a shade too quickly.

“Oh, please,” Ellen snorted. “You are a neon sign. So, I can beat it out of you, or we could just skip that part. Dealer’s choice.”

The despair on Bobby’s face mimicked the anxiety I’d heard from Sam. I tried to ease the tension. “I could just breastfeed Alex in front of him.”

Bobby gave his wife one sort of startled look and gave me another. But when his gaze settled on the baby, his resolve crumpled. “Sit down. This is gonna be hard.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Ellen and Bobby had set about to empty a new bottle of Jack and I was looking on enviously. What the Winchesters had told Bobby? It just didn’t seem possible… but it _did_ explain Sam’s random urge to speak with his three-month-old son. I clutched Alex to me and once again uttered, “No. He couldn’t.”

Bobby took a shot. “I guess Sam got his soul back later than he did here, way after we found out you were pregnant. That angel said one little thing led to another and—“

“And Sam _kills_ his own kid in utero? What the fuck, Bobby?”

The anger in my words belied the dread in my tone. “I know, sweetheart,” Bobby said gently. “I know.”

Ellen held her arms out and I surrendered my son. She held him close. “Little Alex, me, Jo…”

Bobby poured himself another drink. “All because of the whim of some dick angel.”

“Whatever happens, happens. It’s just meant to be.”

Stricken, I whispered, “You can’t mean that.”

Ellen gave me a tremulous smile. “I don’t, honey. Not really. But thinkin’ it helps.”

We sat there together in tense silence, passing Alexander between us as he gurgled and shrieked happily. The thought that all those terrible things were even _possible_ just broke all of our hearts. Trying to imagine Sam, even soulless, making the decision to—

* * *

I woke up when the Impala’s doors creaked open, the black leather under my cheek and cold glass against my hair both familiar and loathed. From above me I could hear the Winchesters yawning. “Dude,” Sam groaned, “what time is it? I just had the weirdest dream.”

“Twenty bucks says mine was weirder,” Dean countered. “I am _not_ kidding.”

“No, no, no. I’m not kidding either. I mean, it was… just _bizarre_.

Tears were building up in my eyes. Had it been a dream? All of it? I clutched my hair as Dean explained, “Mine had the actual Titanic in it.”

They were silent for a moment. “Dean,” Sam said carefully, “did I have a son?”

“Uh…”

That broke the dam on my sobs. Alerted to the fact that they had a third passenger, both brothers opened the back doors and leaned over to peer inside. Sam cautiously put a hand on my shoulder. “Eva?”

My leg snapped out as I planted a boot into his chest. “Don’t you fucking TOUCH ME!” I screamed as Sam toppled backwards into the gravel.

I scrambled out of the car as fast as I could and sprinted away. Blinded by tears, I had no specific direction in mind. I just wanted to _run_. In fact, I might have gone for several miles if it weren’t for an unexpected tree root.

My hands slammed into the ground first, my chin came soon after. A dull pain began to throb in my ankle as twigs and rocks stabbed into various parts of my body. Rather than pick myself up, however, I decided that this was a good enough spot to lie down and die. Figuratively. Literally, if it was possible.

Had it really all been a dream? My son. My beautiful, green-eyed son. The way he giggled, gurgled, cried. How he smelled. How he felt in my arms. Birthing him, breastfeeding him, changing his diapers. Every little moment of frustration and joy and exhaustion. All a lie.

And…

Leaves crunched under my fingers as I remembered that there had been _more_ , something so abhorrent that even just thinking about it made my head spin. A subtle something that was underneath the encounter between me and _him_ , and the sweet gestures that came so naturally. Something that was almost harder to let go than my son because it was based on feelings I’d been denying here in the waking world.

 _Love_.

Great wings disturbed the detritus. Frightened that it was _him_ , I didn’t bother lifting my head. “Was any of it true?” I whispered.

“Depends on what you’re asking about.”

Okay, I didn’t know this voice, and despite the similar accent it lacked the underlying sadism that characterized Crowley. I swiftly pushed myself up to a kneeling position and palmed one of my knives. “Who the hell are you?”

He, or more accurately “it”, was a blonde man of middling height wearing expensive slacks, a v-neck shirt, and the smuggest smirk I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Well, now I can see why our little Cassie is so fascinated.”

I followed his downwards gaze to see the top of my shirt ripped, my bra on display; a consequence of my dive into the detritus. “Perv,” I grumbled as I holstered my knife and zipped up my jacket.

He raised his hand. “Not denying it.”

I stood up, wincing at the pain that shot up my leg. Damnit, I’d sprained my ankle. “Before I gut you, mind telling me who you are?”

“Balthazar,” Castiel said as he appeared behind the stranger. “Thank you for checking on her.”

“My pleasure.” A moment later, he was gone. Another angel, then.

I limped over to lean against a tree. Cass came closer, but when he extended a hand towards my forehead I turned away. “I can—“

“I know what you can do,” I snapped.

“Then why won’t you let me?”

I glared at him, desperately trying to put the enormity of my misery into something other than a scream. Finally, all I could do was repeat, “Was any of it true?”

“Somewhat. It was a divergent timeline. Balthazar decided to—“

“No! Fuck him and why it happened. I’m asking if there was _anything_ that applies to here and now.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “Your child never—“

“Not what I meant.”

“Then I do not understand.”

Oh, but he did. The angel still couldn’t lie convincingly. I decided to spell it out in simple terms. “ _You_. And _me_.”

Castiel sighed. “I can’t.”

“What?”

He looked away. “I _can’t_. Not now. Please.”

“You can’t what?”

“It’s dangerous. Just trust me, it’s for your own good.”

And now I was _pissed_. He looked back up at me and I slapped him. “Fuck you,” I hissed.

“Don’t do that.”

I think I might have actually irritated him. So I slapped him again. When I swung a fist he caught it. He caught the other one, too. I should have remembered he could pull this move off. Regardless of the futility, I pulled and cursed in a vain attempt to get free.

Castiel waited me out, and when I finally stopped struggling he said, quietly and carefully, “It wasn’t all a lie. If… If things were different, then…”

He drew ever so slightly closer. My eyes widened. What was he saying? What did he mean? “Then?”

“Then…”

I began to pull away.

And he kissed me.

And after a shocked moment, I kissed him back.

This was different, far different, than how it had been in Bobby’s panic room. Back then he’d been mostly human and it had felt more or less like any other lusty encounter. This time, however, Castiel was an angel, fueled by Heaven and brought back to life with a few upgrades. Certainly there was the physical reactions; I could feel my flesh warm both above and below from the way our lips and tongue moved with each other. But now I could also taste the power in him, ancient and mysterious, mystical, full of brightness and beauty. All of it transforming this little gesture of affection into something _more_.

We parted reluctantly. My eyes had shuttered closed at some point, I have no idea when. I opened them and found Castiel looking down at me with reverence and regret. His own eyes closed as he uttered, “ _I can’t_ ,” in a voice that cracked with fury and sorrow.

A moment later he was gone. Just… gone.

And despite all my apprehension over what love had done to me in the past, I was left bereft. I looked up into the heavens and asked the only question my befuddled mind could form.

“But why not?”

* * *

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “My Heart Will Go On” (SPN 6.17).


	14. 14

* * *

Dean found me several minutes after Castiel had left, my back still on the same tree. The angel had taken the opportunity of our intimate contact to heal my twisted ankle and the scrapes from my fall, but… well. There are all sorts of different ways to hurt, and no celestial energy would erase the way my heart was aching.

“You okay?” Dean asked as soon as he’d rounded the tree edge.

“No.”

“Yeah. Neither is Sam.”

“I _really_ don’t care.”

“Damnit, Eva! Will you just—“ Dean paced a few steps, his hands in his hair. “You know he won’t ever forgive himself once he finds out.”

“Which is how it should be,” I said quietly. I desperately wanted to change the subject. “So what exactly did this Balthazar do?”

Dean wiped a hand down his face before rolling his eyes. “He had a hate-on for Billy Zane. Went and unsunk the Titanic for shits and giggles.”

Good grief. Angelic movie critics. “He’s a dick.”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m not going to force you guys to talk or anything, but it’s gotta happen sooner or later.”

Crap. I hadn’t veered him off course, but with the ups and downs of the past hour I couldn’t form a properly pithy response. My hand drifted to my lips as I sought to relive that moment of affection, those brief minutes where I gave in, hoping that maybe it would give me a modicum of comfort. It didn’t. “Yeah,” was all I managed to utter.

Dean didn’t seem to notice my lapse. “Well, let’s head on back before that asshole decides he doesn’t like Denzel Washington and undoes the Civil War.”

I followed the man through the maze of trees back towards Singer Salvage. The shock of Castiel’s kiss was wearing off; in its place was a swiftly growing sense of resentment. Leaving me like that without an explanation? Thanks for the emotional bruise, you fucking coward.

All my heart’s walls were now fortified, the windows shuttered tight. If Castiel wanted to slither back in he had another thing coming.

* * *

We spent a day recovering from our reality-warping ordeal doing various things to help us cope. Sam and Dean medicated themselves with whiskey and beer. I partook of the latter and spent the rest of the time in my clearing practicing with my _samjeongdo_ and my bow. Bobby, thankfully, had no memories of his marriage to Ellen, but he was still in mourning. The fumes wafting off of him were toxic.

I put Castiel out of my mind. Lingering on what had happened did nothing but infuriate me. He owed me one long fucking explanation, but no matter how many profanities I prayed his way he didn’t show.

And then the long overdue conversation with Sam finally occurred.

It was a rather nice day, sun out and everything, the weather clashing spectacularly with my black mood. I was swigging beers, wearing only a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, and had fired the last arrow in my attempt to make an obscene pattern on one of the trees when I heard, “Is that a dick?”

Sort of. If you squinted. I didn’t bother answering and instead opened another beer. Sam dangled another 6-pack of a lager he knew I liked. “Got a peace offering.”

“Leave it, then.” I tossed my hair off my neck; the mugginess had plastered most of it onto my skin. I hate the weather outside of California. It’s either too cold, too hot, or too wet. Or any combination of the three.

Sam’s eyes followed the swing of my locks. “I wanted to talk about what happened.”

I eyed him sideways. “Okay.”

He put the beers down and then stood there, fiddling with his fingers like some overgrown ten-year-old. After a few minutes, he blurted out, “I remember being with you. What you looked like. And… And what you taste like. And how you feel.”

“Okay.” Really, what else was I supposed to say to that?

Sam folded his arms. It wasn’t an intimidating gesture. It almost seemed as if he was engaging in a vain attempt to make himself smaller. “I keep seeing something.”

“What?”

“You. On the ground at my feet. _Bleeding_.” Sam let loose a quivering sigh. “Eva, what did I do?”

“Ask your brother.” Who _apparently_ still hadn’t told him the fucking truth!

“He won’t say. He thinks it’ll mess up this,” he said as he tapped his head. Sheepishly, he added, “I had a seizure the last time I pushed it too far.”

I gave him a shrug and started folding my bow, hoping he’d get tired of waiting me out. Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t the type to give up so easily. He stood there silently as I fiddled and pontificated until I was the one who finally lost my patience. “You kicked me,” I finally said.

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “But that wouldn’t explain the blood… down there.”

Fine. If he was going to keep pushing, I was going to let him know. Still staring at my bow, I told him, “I was pregnant.”

The leaves rustled; he must have started pacing. When Sam finally spoke, his voice shook. “I killed the baby. I killed _our_ baby.”

I finally turned to look at him. There were tears steadily streaking their way down his cheeks. How horrible it must be to find out you’d murdered your own child? If there was anything that could illustrate how different _this_ Sam was, it was this regret, this empathy. I actually pitied him. “It wasn’t you,” I said quietly. “Not really.”

“But it _was_. Oh God.” Sam’s knees collapsed. He sat down heavily onto the ground and buried his head in his hands. "A son. A _child_. I never imagined…” After a few moments, he lifted his head. “How could you ever forgive me?”

Those hazel eyes, those ones that had once looked at me with a businesslike sense of lust and a pragmatic willingness to inflict violence, held so much self-damning sorrow it was nearly unbearable. I almost exonerated him. _Almost_. “I won’t.”

Sam’s head dipped. His shoulders began to shake. If I stayed any longer I was going to break that promise I made never to forgive him. I grabbed my shirt and bow and hustled as fast as I could back to the house for a shower and some peace. I was hoping that was the end of it, at least for the day. Stupid me, getting all optimistic.

I was toweling my hair dry when Dean knocked on my door perfunctorily and then barged on in. I didn’t even get the second to form my usual “fuck off” before he was off and running. “Why’d you tell him?”

I slapped my towel down on my bed. “Why the fuck didn’t _you_?”

“Because I didn’t wanna bust my brother’s gourd!”

“Well, good for you!”

We glared, our pointless exchange having done nothing but incense the other person. I really didn’t blame Dean for not telling Sam what he’d done; how could he? But Dean was a convenient target for all my pent up confusion.

Of course, there was no way he could know that. “He’s my _brother_ ,” he stated furiously. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

I huffed out a sardonic laugh. “Sorry, can’t relate. My brother didn’t get to the age where he’d have to worry about _impregnating_ a girl.”

Dean did his best impression of a goldfish, opening and closing his mouth without making a sound, before throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m just trying to keep him sane.”

“Well, in the meantime you’re driving me *in*sane.” I walked over to him and tried pushing him out of my room. He staggered a bit but didn’t really move; after all, he did have at least 50 pounds on me. Still, I kept shoving. “Anyways, good conversation. Now get the fuck out.”

I think Dean meant to turn around and continue berating me, but instead ended up tangling my feet with his. The two of us crashed to the floor with him doing the chivalrous thing and taking the brunt of the impact. I ended up sprawled over his front, my nose pressed against his chest and my legs splayed on either side of his belly.

I forgot how good he smelled. Not in the sense of colognes or perfumes, just _him_. There was a hint of alcohol, the sweet burn of gun oil, and whatever cheap, fresh-scented soap he used. Under my fingers was a firm, fit chest, and while it wasn’t as sculpted as his brother’s it was still deliciously shaped.

I pushed myself up and found his pupils blown wide with lust. It brought to fore the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in _months_ , and I was certain my own eyes reflected a similar sentiment. I adjusted my hips and his responded in kind, his breath hitching while an answering warmth blossomed between my legs. He swallowed nervously, one hand moving to my hip, while I bit my lip and considered whether or not to indulge in a little “friends with benefits” scenario.

Then I remembered the last time I’d looked down into a Winchester’s eyes from this vantage point, and the cruel smirk that had twisted his lips as he thrust into me.

My blood ran cold. I quickly clambered to my feet and turned away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my travel backpack and grabbed it. “Where you off to?” Dean asked as he got up.

“I need to kill something.” Underwear, socks, shirt, pants, phone charger… ah! Sword under the bed. I knelt down to grab it and came up with the _samjeongdo_ sheathe in hand.

“Great,” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

My eyebrows shot up. “ _Excuse_ me? Who invited you?”

The green-eyed idiot blinked confusedly at me. “No one. You callin’ someone from the road?”

I was seriously baffled. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“For… For backup?“

“You mean for someone that’ll get in my way? No thanks.” I grabbed my coat from the side of the bed and tried shoving my way past. “Move.”

“You’re serious. I thought that Bobby went with you or something.” When I furrowed my brow, Dean folded his arms. “You are just _asking_ to get killed, you know that?”

He’d hit closer to home than he realized. My road really was a long, drawn-out suicide attempt. With nothing to look forward to after I got my revenge I hoped to just die in the midst of taking out one more human-eating monster. “It’s my life.”

“Look, we’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, and no one survives long when they hunt alone!”

“Why the _fuck_ do you care?” I shouted up at Dean. “All you and your brother have used me for is a hole to stick your dicks into.” His eyes widened, shocked by my accusation. “So get the fuck out of my way or I’ll _make_ you get out of my way.”

I unsheathed my sword. Shamefaced, Dean actually did what I asked. I barreled through my doorway, but halted when he softly said, “I’m sorry, Eva.”

It was a possible turning point. I could stop and hug him and told him it wasn’t his fault I was so angry. Not really. I could have someone to talk to about my confusion over Castiel, and try and discuss how conflicted I was over Sam’s apologies. A friend to comfort me. A _real_ friend.

Instead, however, I kept walking, and ended up throwing myself right into a goddamn trap.

* * *

I was just getting back to my motel after having mopped up _another_ nest of vampires (things were cropping up left and right for some goddam reason) when I got the phone call. “Leenee?”

There was only one person alive who called me that anymore. “Josie?”

My younger sister sniffed loudly into the phone. “Grandma Park died last night.”

“Shit.” Grandma Park, our maternal grandmother, was our last living stateside relative. Her husband, as well as our paternal grandparents, had gone soon after their son and daughter. I think the pain of knowing that their children had died before them, and in such a horrifying manner, was just too much.

“It was in her sleep.”

Now _that_ set off my alarms. Grandma Park, despite her advanced years, was far more resilient than her counterparts. She’d gone through who knows how many brutal experiences during World War II and the Korean War. I highly doubted that a simple sleeping heart attack would take her out. This whole thing stank of setup.

“Can you come to my place?” Josie was begging. “Help me with the arrangements?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” I was exhausted, but I knew what was coming next.

“I know you’re probably out in, like, Florida or something—“ New Mexico, actually, “—but can you get here as soon as possible? Please?”

If anything, my baby sister knew how to make that whiny plead of hers convincing. Before I could think of anything to delay my immediate presence, I was promising Josephine I’d be there the next day. I checked out of the motel, gassed up, and headed north.

I wasn’t stupid. I walked up to my sister’s shitty apartment off of Mission Street with a gun in my left and my blade in my right hands. Yes, I’d inherited a firearm. It was the one concession I’d made to Dean after he’d learned I hunted alone. He swore he would keep me in free ammo after I bitched about the costs and I caved. A black Beretta with a cache of silver bullets was all I would let him press on me.

I knocked on the door, and when I heard Josephine tell me she was coming I stowed the gun in an inside jacket pocket. The _samjeongdo_ I stuck in my backpack, and while it stuck out from the top like a banner I knew Josie would chalk it up to what she called my newfound quirkiness.

The door opened and I suddenly found myself with an armful of perfume-laden sister. She gave a theatrical sob and pulled me inside. “Come on, come on,” she said. “I’ve got a pizza. Cheese only.”

Gotta keep up that stripper figure, I guess. I suppose this niceness of hers _could_ be a side effect of grief. Maybe I was just being paranoid for nothing.

Except Josie’s living room wasn’t empty. “Hello, love.”

Fuck me. _Crowley_. “You fucking BITCH!” I screamed at my sister as two demons crowded behind me. One of them wrenched my backpack off and tossed it while the other ripped down my coat.

Josie was busy reapplying her mascara. “Sorry, Leenee. He offered me fifty thou. Couldn’t say no.”

Crowley gave her a proud little smile. “See, this is what I like. Simple wants, simple deals. None of this nonsense about souls and torture and whatnot.”

“Yeah, uh-huh, whatever.” Clearly Josie hadn’t heard a word the demon had said. “So where’s my money?”

“Do you know what he is?” I growled at her.

“Some rich guy.” She stuffed her makeup into her purse before scowling at me. “Don’t pretend you’re surprised. That’s what you get for leaving me here all alone.”

I hadn’t left her; she’d thrown me out. But of course, Josie chose to remember her past in the most convenient way. Maybe I could jolt her back to reality. “Josephine. He’s not human. None of these guys are. He’s a _demon_.”

She started laughing. I guess it was too much to ask that my little sister would take what I said on faith alone. “Oh my God! You are, like, _so_ dramatic! A _demon_. Pff.” She stowed her mascara. “Maybe he seems like one from your end, but from mine? Not that bad.”

In the midst of her diatribe, Crowley produced a briefcase from out of nowhere and put it on the table. He flipped it open to reveal the requisite cash. When he spotted my disbelieving expression, he told me, “I keep my deals.”

“And why aren’t you just killing us?” I snapped. _That_ got Josie’s attention.

“Because if she’s dead,” Crowley said as he thumbed towards my sister, “I’ve got no leverage against _you_.”

“What?” Josie asked, startled. “‘Killing us’? What the _hell_ is going on, Leenee?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I can’t believe you! What the _fuck_ did you bring down on us this time?”

Finally irritated, Crowley flicked a hand. My traitorous sister went sailing into a wall. Her head cracked against the plaster and she collapsed onto the floor. Much to my chagrin, she was still breathing after she landed.

The demon advanced on me. “We need to have a conversation, little dragon.”

He jerked his head at his lackeys. One of them put a hand on my shoulder and we were abruptly somewhere else; the derelict bedroom of a mansion, it looked like, long abandoned. I shrugged off the demon’s hand and snarled, “I knew you weren’t dead. I just fucking knew it.”

“Smart girl. The two of you, out.” The other hellspawn disappeared. “Drink?”

Crowley walked over to the only tabletop that wasn’t covered in either dust or white cloth and popped open a decanter of brown liquid. “This place belonged to a former client. Real Scrooge, that one, with no Christmas ghosts to turn him around. Left it to no one after he died.” He poured two drinks before heading back towards me. “Well?”

I smacked the proffered glass out of his hand. It shattered on the wooden floor. “If you’re going to kill me then do it already.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “What a bloody waste.” Of course he was talking about his alcohol. He took an elegant sip out of his own glass before waving a hand. I was forced backwards onto a cushioned chair. Dust billowed up and obscured Crowley’s sudden move towards me. “You’re here,” the demon said cruelly as he leaned over me, his hands gripping armrests, “as _insurance_.”

“Against what?” I said uneasily.

“Against my so-called partner.” When I looked at him, baffled, he sighed. “Let’s not bother with this song and dance. Castiel politely requested I not harm the Winchesters. Oddly enough, he neglected to include _you_.” The demon grabbed my chin. His fingers dug into my jaw as he pulled our faces within an inch of each other. “I have this feeling that was on purpose. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares _too much_. Therefore,” Crowley continued softly, my bones creaking under his grip, “should dear Castiel decide to renege, I’ve got something to make him _heel_.”

Castiel was working with Crowley? What the fuck? “Or maybe you’re wrong,” I hissed, “and he just doesn’t care at all.”

That terrible smile of his just got wider. “I saw the two of you locking lips, little dragon.” My eyes widened as Crowley’s own lips got dangerously close. “I’ve never seen my feathered whore with an actual whore before. Really, I’m quite jealous.”

“Get off,” I whispered with all the false bravado I could muster.

“Maybe I will.” The innuendo terrified me. He was the _King of Hell_. What could I possibly do against him if he decided to follow through? “But in the meantime, I’d like you to be a good girl and sit tight.”

He snapped his fingers. A second later I was alone. I immediately ran to the door. Locked.

The windows were bricked up. There was a bathroom which I heartily took advantage of, and a set of drawers full of old fashioned clothes. I’m not talking stuff from the fifties and sixties, I’m talking moth-eaten men’s shirts and slacks that looked as if their female counterparts required corsets.

Since demon lackey number one had stolen my coat, I used the least rancid long sleeved item I could find for warmth. After that it was time to see if there was a way out.

Windows were solid. No way of getting through those without a sledgehammer. Bathroom didn’t even have an opening. Nothing in those drawers except clothes. Under the bed was an impressive colony of dust bunnies and nothing else. Bathroom cabinets were just empty.

Frustrated, I kicked the locked door before plopping down on the on the mattress. I lay down and eventually fell asleep, exhausted and bored.

My eyes snapped open a few hours later because someone slapped their hand over my mouth.

“Hey, she’s up.”

“Good. I like it when they squirm.”

It was a pair of black-eyed assholes, one wearing a tall blonde and the other a smirking brunette, neither in the immaculate suits Crowley preferred. Jeans, shirts, and hoodies. Nice, nondescript guys they’d probably picked up off the street. Blondie was already nestled between my legs; his hand was the one that was covering my mouth. Brunette was smirking over his shoulder.

I swung a fist only to have it grabbed by the blonde. He let go of my mouth to catch the next one. I used the opportunity to scream only to cut it off when the demon used all of his hellish strength to slap me. Through the roar in my ears I heard brunette ask, “Didn’t Crowley say this was some whore?”

“No,” blondie answered, “he said it was that _angel’s_ whore.”

“If she’s spreading it for some feathered dickhead, then she shouldn’t have an issue with one of us.”

I started flailing and shrieking. Every hunter’s instinct I had to defend myself went flying out of my head in the face of what was, quite disturbingly, the most ordinary sort of assault a woman alone can experience. Brunette moved to lock my wrists down onto the bed and blondie ripped my shirt down the front.

The latter clamped his hand over my mouth again and pulled a blade from inside his coat. I went still, tears making their steady way down the sides of my face. It was every nightmare I’d had come to life. I wanted to beg. Please. Please just kill me. Please don’t do this to me. Not again. No more, just no more, _just let me die_!

I cried harder as blondie licked his lips and slid the knife tip down my heaving chest. He reached my belly and began to press… but was forced to stopped when a hand appeared on top of his head and immolated him.

The light from the demon’s eyes and mouth was blinding. Brunette let go of my wrists to face his compatriot’s killer, allowing me to curl up on my side. I threw my arms over my eyes as a second flash erupted.

Instinctively, I knew it was Castiel, but none of that registered when he put a hand on my shoulder. All I knew was that someone was _touching me_ and my clothes were torn and that meant that something bad bad bad was about to happen…

“Evangeline!” Castiel cried. “It’s me. It’s _me_.”

I struck out blindly and screamed. At least one hand connected with his face. “Get away! Get away!”

“Stop.” My body was being smothered. Thick, soft cloth enveloped me as I dissolved into frightened sobs. “Evangeline, you’re safe. I have you.”

I shook my head. “No. No no no. Not you. I don’t want _you_.” I knew who had me now and the fury that had tainted my mood for the past several weeks exploded. “You leave me alone.” I shoved myself away from him. “You leave me _the fuck_ alone!”

“I don’t understand.”

The hurt and confusion in those three little words only served to fuel my ire. I drew the sides of my purloined men’s shirt tightly closed and stood up. He followed suit. An awkward silence reigned as I got my head screwed back on.

I used an outsized cuff to wipe my eyes. “The demons,” I finally said.

“There were only these two.”

“Good. Get me the fuck out of here.”

The angel tentatively placed a hand on my shoulder again. Between one moment and the next we were somewhere else, an isolated riverbank lit by moonlight without a speck of civilization in sight. I jerked away from Castiel’s grip. “Don’t touch me.”

He didn’t say anything as I picked my way over to the water. I crouched down and dipped my hand in. It was remarkably clear, beautiful, and, it turned out, cold. I used some on my face before bothering to ask, “Where are we?”

“The Ukraine.”

Well that’s a first. “Why?” I asked as used corner of my purloined shirt to dry.

“It’s… safer.”

Than what? “Great. So can we go home now?”

I remained in my position and saw Castiel’s rippling reflection appear above mine. “We need to talk.”

“You want to talk? Fine.” I stood up and glared at him. It was the first time I’d really looked into that fathomless blue since the day he kissed me and the sight felt like a punch to the gut. Joy and desire washed over me, commingling with my rage and leaving a concoction of emotions that was as confusing as it was infuriating.

Castiel was waiting for me to talk and the very sight of him had rendered me speechless.

We stared at each other. I don’t know what the angel was thinking, only that he swallowed nervously while he waited. My mind made the decision to lock onto the only important thing that, hopefully, had nothing to do with whatever this was between us. “You’re working with Crowley.”

His eyes widened. “Why would you say that?”

All the confirmation I needed. “Because the son of a bitch TOLD ME!” I stabbed him in the chest with my finger. “He said that’s why I was there, because he doesn’t _trust you_. I was his fucking _leverage_ against whatever it is you agreed to do.”

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “No no no. That’s why I left. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.” His voice rose. “To keep you out of this!”

I threw my hands up into the air. It all came back around to us. “Well, good on you, Castiel! Shit found me anyways. Congratulations, you _failed_.”

“I am _trying_ to—“

No, I was tired of excuses. I rose up on the tips of my toes in order to scream in his face, “I WAS ALMOST RAPED BY TWO DEMONS!”

There. That shut him up. I dropped back down to my heels. Finally, I’d gotten to the crux of the problem. Truth be told that wasn’t the first time I’d been nearly assaulted as a hunter. However, every other time it had been a _human_ dickwad who’d attempted it and they were easier to overcome. Demons? They had the advantage of inhuman strength and a complete lack of morality.

I hadn’t felt so much terror in years. I’d been scared before, sure. No one’s immune to being afraid for their lives when a vampire’s teeth descend. But there’s a vast difference between simple _fear_ and pure _terror_ , and the parallels of the situation just locked me back into Louie Lee’s clutches. His cuffs, his knives and whips, his _lust_. Held down, helpless, hopeless.

Castiel was staring at me, stricken. I shouldered my way past him and walked several steps through the brush, my arms instinctively wrapping around my own body for both warmth and comfort. My teeth worried at my bottom lip as I used all that I could to push those memories down down down back where they were supposed to be.

I was tasting liquid copper before Castiel finally talked. “We are not meant to feel. Angels. We were built to obey, that’s all. Follow orders, worship our Father, watch over His creations. Emotions are weaknesses, hindrances.”

I shifted my feet, listening. “Akobel was part of my flight. He abandoned Heaven to protect a woman he cared for. He loved her. Married her. Fathered a _daughter_. And it got him killed.

“Anna was my commander. She tore her Grace out so she could feel, abandoned her post. She was reborn as a human, but one with traces of her angelic power. The demons found out. They killed her parents. Eventually Heaven reclaimed her, drove her mad. And Michael smote her.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I whispered.

Castiel continued as if I hadn’t spoke. “I lost my Grace. I was able to _feel_. And I learned in that short time what it was to worry, to care, to be frightened. To eat, to sleep, to experience—” His voice cut quickly and I speculated over what he didn’t want to reveal. “And then God rebuilt me and it was all taken away, so I thought.

“But it wasn’t. I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t stop _caring_. Dean, Sam, Bobby. They were my friends.”

My name wasn’t there. I felt abandoned, lost. “And what about me?”

Grass shuffled as he approached. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what to say.”

I shook my head. “Yes you do.”

A lock of my hair moved as the angel gently rubbed it between his fingers. “If I do this,” he said quietly, “if I admit this, we will both be in danger. We will be hunted, despised.” His voice shook. “You are _human_. So much more fragile. If I give in and you were to die because of me…”

Castiel trailed off. He had no more to say, I suppose, as he wasn’t quite ready to admit what was so fucking obvious. My turn to speak. “Do you know what Louie Lee did to me?”

“Not… exactly.”

Of course he knew the gist; the angel had healed me so many times he could probably point out every ridge and divot. He knew _what_ had happened, of course. But there was no one, not even Bobby, who knew _why_. “My brother and my parents were butchered. Police didn’t have a clue. Nothing made sense to them; too little blood, too much gore.

“At their funeral this… this guy came up to me. Good looking. Sympathetic. _Charming_. Said his little brother had been Alexander’s friend. I was stupid, so fucking _stupid_.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “He got my number, offered coffee. I took him up on it a few weeks later. He helped me through my grief, even helped with my sister and the paperwork and the expenses… God, he was a dream come true.”

I looked up at the stars. The sky was cloudless. I could see every pinprick of light piercing the blackness with a harsh clarity. “He said he loved me. I loved him. And then we finally slept together. It was wonderful. Magical, even. I fell asleep in his arms and woke up handcuffed to the bed.

“You know what he would tell me? He would tell me he was doing it because he loved me. He would hurt me and fuck me and feed on me and all because he _loved me_. So do you get it?” I whirled around to face Castiel. “Do you get why I’m so pissed off?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I should never have given in. I should have kept it to myself.”

“No!” Why do angels have to be so fucking dense? Then again, I wasn’t exactly being _crystal_ clear. “Maybe! I don’t know. All I know is that every time we meet you show me that there’s something better, something good out there, maybe even something to look forward to. And… And then you kiss me, and it was like all of it came true. But then you left. _You left_.” I grit my teeth. “You can’t take that back. You can’t undo it. So if you _can’t_ ,” I snarled as he flinched at the reminder of what he’d said, “if this isn’t happening, then tell me now.” _Break my heart so I can move on, goddamnit_.

Castiel reached out and I resisted the urge to back away. For all I knew he was going to just shut me up with another tap to the forehead. Instead, he hooked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. When I lifted a hand to touch his face he cupped the back of my head and drew me close. “Well?” I whispered. “So what is it? What can’t you figure out?”

We were so close, a finger’s breadth apart. “I think…” he whispered back. “I think I love you.”

Our lips met. Over and over and over.

My arms were around his neck. His were crushing me to him. My eyes closed.

At some point I heard Castiel’s wings stirring the air. We were back in my room at Bobby’s. I pushed at his coats and he let me go for a moment to shake his arms behind him. They fell to the ground. He pulled at his tie, then my shirt. I undid dress shirt buttons, slid my hands around his ribs and up his back.

He guided us to my bed. We shed more clothing in between kisses. When we were finally skin to skin… ah.

I’d slept with an innumerable amount of strangers over the years, telling myself that this was me taking back control of my body, using their lust to sate my own. I’d had sex with Dean, an act of dual comfort after a loss so great it couldn’t be put into words. I’d been fucked by a soulless Sam, used as a tool for release. And now with Castiel…

I was being cherished. Revered. His eyes and lips worshipped every inch of me, from the tips of my fingers to the scars on my back. It was the first time someone was with me for _me_ and not as a means to an end.

An innocent wonder filled his face as he moved in me. I thought I would have to guide him, but he knew what to do, at least theoretically. He was expressing love physically for the first time, and he was going to do it _right_. When I peaked, my legs and arms wrapped tightly around him, his face buried into my neck, he followed, a soft, awestruck sound escaping from his lips.

We lay entwined under my sheets. Castiel kissed my nose, my forehead, and I tucked myself into his arms. “Don’t go,” I murmured.

“I won’t. I promise.”

* * *

 **Author’s Note** : The Denzel Washington movie Dean references is Glory. Awesome flick.

I know that Akobel didn’t really father Lily Sunder’s kid, but Castiel didn’t get the truth until years later. Continuity! (jazz hands)


	15. 15

* * *

I woke up in his arms.

My bed was a twin. I imagine if either Winchester ever used it their feet hung off the end. Cass wasn’t quite so tall, but tall enough. The only way the two of us could fit on the mattress was if we were tangled together. We ended up in the same position as when I helped him fall asleep down in the panic room; my ear on his bicep, my leg thrown over his hip, his arm over my body, our chests facing one another.

Castiel’s chin was resting on my head, but when I stirred he did too. “Hello,” I said quietly.

“Hello,” he replied.

“You’re still here.”

“I promised.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t sleep.”

“I don’t. But I can rest. And I was watching over you.”

That brought a small smile to my face. “Thank you.” I reached up to turn his lips down towards mine. The angel obliged, and the innocent morning smooch I intended to pass along started to smolder. One of his hands drifted to my breast as one of mine traveled down to guide his hardening member back into me…

Which is why we completely missed the sound of Bobby tromping up the stairs. “Maybe we can use one o’Eva’s—“ He froze, his mouth hanging open. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man look so scandalized.

“Bobby?” Dean called. He sounded as if he were downstairs, but the unmistakable tromp of someone taking the steps up immediately followed.

The older hunter recovered quickly. Cass and I, however, were busy doing our best impressions of deers caught in headlights. Bobby glanced down the hallway before hissing at Castiel, “Go on. Git! Hurry!”

What the hell? Why was Bobby angry? Moreover, why did he sound scared? Whatever was going on, Cass obliged. A whoosh of air and flutter of wings and I was alone. Even his clothes were gone.

I clutched the blankets to my body as Dean appeared. “What’s wrong? Is there—oh.” The elder Winchester brother gave my nudity an appreciative look before asking, “How the hell did you get here?”

“Um.” I ran my fingers through my tangled locks. “Last night. Cass… Cass dropped me off. Was so tired I just stripped and went to sleep.”

Bobby radiated disbelief, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Small favors, I guess. He must’ve found you before we could figure it out.”

“Wait, what?”

“We—“

“How about you go on and get dressed,” Bobby interjected, “then we can fill you in.”

“Sure,” I replied.

Dean turned and left. We could hear him heading down the stairs calling for his brother. Bobby, however, hadn’t budged. “You wanna explain?”

“Explain what?”

“You really want me to spell it out?”

No. But _I_ wanted to. “You see, when a man and a woman care for each other _very_ much—“

Bobby scowled and cut off my attempt at levity. “‘Cept he ain’t a man.”

I drew myself up, offended on the angel’s behalf. “Since when is it a problem that Castiel isn’t human?”

“It ain’t, it’s just…” Bobby sighed. “You better hurry on up and get downstairs.”

* * *

“My name’s Josie—Josephine. Josephine Chung. I-I-I’m Leenee— _Evangeline’s_ sister. She’s in trouble, I got her in trouble, _please_ call this phone back. I don’t know who you are but she needs your help and-and-and it’s my fault and… God…”

All four of them (both Winchesters, Bobby, and Castiel) had gotten a message from my guilt-ridden sister a few hours after I had been taken by Crowley. Josie knew all the possible four-digit codes I’d have used for my phone (it was our brother’s birthdate) and had unlocked it once she regained consciousness. After that it was a matter of scrolling down my call history and contacting every single number that was there.

Dean called her back first, and she had hysterically spilled out the entire story, from being approached at work to luring me back to San Francisco, but the mention of the presumably deceased King of Hell had the hunters’ hackles up. They’d watched Castiel immolate Crowley’s bones, and for the angel to make such a monumental mistake was uncharacteristic. To make matters worse, when confronted about it, the angel had obfuscated. However, the fact that Crowley, or someone masquerading as Crowley, had me in their clutches was more important than their suspicions.

They’d actually been in Grants Pass, Oregon, hot on the tail of the Mother-of-All (the progenitor of all the monsters that roamed the Earth) when Josie’s call came through. As much as they wanted to find me, they were without their car (Cass having teleported them there), and they had to finish taking care of this “Eve.” Through some trickery and risk on Dean’s part they succeeded. Before dying, however, the creature had confirmed that Crowley was alive and put more credibility towards Bobby and Sam’s stance that something untoward was going on.

Castiel had zapped them back and then vanished, I assume to go find me. They’d spent the night trying to figure out some way of locating me. Bobby had finally set out to try a scrying spell, which is why he’d come up to my room; the ingredients included something that belonged to the individual being scried. However, the threat to my person was still active, which was why we were having our current conversation in Bobby’s panic room.

At least now I knew where the older hunter’s hostility to my erstwhile bedmate had developed. But despite his brother’s and his father figure’s insistences Dean was still defending the angel. “You know, he’s our _friend_.” Sam tried to interrupt, but Dean barreled on. “So he burned the wrong bones. So Crowley tricked him. We all make mistakes!”

“Nobody’s saying nothing yet,” Bobby said placatingly.

“You think that Cass is in with Crowley. _Crowley_?” Dean repeated incredulously.

Bobby sighed, exasperated. “Look, I’m just saying I don’t know. Now, look, I hate myself for even thinking it. But I _don’t know_.”

“I do,” I said quietly.

The others were staring at me, dumbfounded. “How?” Sam asked.

I squirmed a bit; Bobby was giving me a horribly father-like grimaces of disappointment. “Because Crowley told me.”

“And?”

I shouldn’t. It wasn’t really my secret to tell, but no matter how it was spun nothing good could come from a partnership with a demon, particularly the King of Hell. I just hoped that the angel would forgive me. “Why do you think that dickhead took me? He thinks Cass is going to double cross him.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, confused. “But why you?” Dean asked.

“Because…” Couldn’t very well tell them that Castiel and I were exploring… well, each other. What had Crowley said? “Because Cass specifically asked him not to hurt you guys. I got lost in the shuffle.”

The three of them stared pensively at the shadow of the wrought-iron devil’s trap that was on the floor. “So Crowley wants to make sure Cass complies,” Sam finally said. “He’s going after people _we_ care about, probably to keep us off his back while he and Cass do… whatever the hell it is.” He threw his hands up. “I can’t think of who might even still be _alive_ other than Eva here.”

Dean and I came to the same conclusion nearly simultaneously. Our heads jerked up as we looked at each other, horrified. “Lisa,” I gasped.

“And Ben,” Dean added.

We both jumped to our feet and started running out the door and up the basement stairs. Bobby and Sam followed, hollering at us to wait a goddamn minute. We ignored them.

All tension between us flew away in the face of the danger to our friend (or erstwhile lover). There was no doubt in either of our minds that Crowley would head to them sooner rather than later. The only other person that he could go for was Bobby, but after that whole nonsense with Bobby’s soul I was certain the demon would stay clear.

I jammed myself into the front seat of the Impala at the same time as Dean. In record time he was revving the engine and backing out of the salvage yard, yelling at Sam to take care of Bobby. The dust billowing behind us obscured whatever rude gestures or expressions either of the ones left behind might have made.

It was normally a good eight hours or so from Sioux Falls to Cicero. We made it in six. On the way, Bobby and Sam blew up both our phones with calls and texts, but other than a terse reply from me telling them to hold on we didn’t respond. Of course, even with the law-breaking speed and the focused silence between myself and Dean we were too late.

“FUCK!”

Dean kicked the remnants of Lisa’s coffee table halfway across the room. I knelt down beside the large man lying on the floor and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Protruding bones around his trachea spoke to his cause of death.

I leapt to my feet when Dean’s phone shattered on the floor. “What the fuck was that for?” I asked.

“Ben called while we were on the road. I should’ve… I could’ve—“

“Done jack shit. We were already on the way.”

My phone began to buzz. It was an unknown number, which was weird in and of itself; anyone who called me did so because we’d exchanged contact information. “Hello?”

“Hello, little dragon.”

I nearly cracked my screen hitting the speaker button. “Where are they, you fucking asshole?”

“Such sweet words always roll off your tongue. It makes the blood rush southwards.”

“Cut the crap, Crowley,” Dean snarled. “Answer the fucking question!”

“Language! There’s a lady present.”

“Let ‘em go now, or I swear—“

“Right, right. You’ll rip me a cornucopia of orifices. Let’s get to the bit where I tell you how this goes: your chocolate’s been in my peanut butter for far too long.”

“Get to the point!” I snapped.

“I suppose we could skip the foreplay and get right down to the ol’ in and out. So, Dean, I’ve got your uh… oh, what are they? Ex-lady friend and not-kid, and I’m keeping them until I’m satisfied you and yours are backing the _hell off_. So stand down or I get creative with their squishy bits. Got it?” Before we could answer, Crowley concluded his threat with a jovial, “Splendid. Kisses!” The call ended.

I glowered at my phone. Then, as what Crowley had said hit me, I directed my ire at Dean. “What is he talking about? Backing the hell off of what?”

“I better explain on the way back to Bobby’s. C’mon, we need to figure this shit out pronto.”

* * *

Before leaving Lisa’s I made an anonymous 9–1–1 call claiming to be a neighbor who’d heard a commotion and saw the door had been left swinging open. At least whoever was lying dead on the floor would get picked up.

The situation, as Dean explained on the drive back, had to do with the warehouse incident months ago, as well as the difficulties with the Mother-of-All. I’d been so preoccupied with my own issues (my unwelcome and ill-fated pregnancy) that I hadn’t heard what the Alpha Vampire and Crowley had said about Purgatory. Apparently the King of Hell was interested in the place, but for what purpose none of them knew. None of us believed his claim of “location, location, location” was his true motivation.

Dean called Sam on the way and told him what we’d found. They commiserated, and between themselves decided to continue to try and uncover whatever it was Crowley and Cass had planned. When we got back to Bobby’s it was past midnight, but both him and Sam were still up poring through some new tomes. “Anything?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam replied wearily.

I picked up a book when I spotted a familiar name on one of the covers. “Is this… Is this Samuel’s?”

“Yeah,” said Dean.

“Why the hell would he let you take these out of his place? He wouldn’t even let me leave his stupid library with them.”

The three men glanced at one another. “You don’t know?” Bobby asked.

“Know what?” God, I was getting tired of being left in the dark.

“Samuel’s dead.”

My eyes widened. “How? When?”

Sam sighed. “I… I shot him.” Before I could raise hell, he rushed on. “Eve made these worms—“

“Khan worms,” Dean helpfully supplied.

“Whatever. It got into Samuel. He would’ve killed all of us if I hadn’t done something.”

“Got into me, too,” Dean said regretfully. “It made me kill Gwen. And it’s what killed Rufus.”

“While in me,” Bobby added softly.

I sat down carefully on a stack of books. “Oh.” As much as I wanted to rail against Sam for Samuel’s death, it really wasn’t his fault; if the thing that had slithered into their brains could get Bobby to kill Rufus then it had been something truly strong and vile.

I was going to miss the old man and his stubborn niece. There were so few people I could call a friend nowadays that the loss of two left a substantial gap. It was a far cry from my “normal” days flitting about as a social butterfly among the geeky elite, when others were as much competition as they were companions. Those so-called friends were good enough to ask about homework and boys and to gripe about parental pressure, but there had been no one I’d have trusted my life to.

I gkanced at the three men around me and realized how much more meaningful our relationships were, and how grateful I was to have them in my life. Including Sam. His eyes caught mine for a moment. When I gave him a slight smile, the naked gratitude in his expression did a lot to soften my feelings towards him.

Well, a fourth person would be superfluous at this point; by the looks of things they’d gone through almost the entire stack of purloined volumes from Samuel’s library. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced.

“Uh, okay,” Dean said, puzzled.

“Don’t go too far,” Bobby warned. “And take a shotgun.”

Damnit, my sword was still in San Francisco. “Fine,” I groused.

“Salt rounds in the kitchen.”

Rather than argue (and let them on to what I was really intending to do) I grabbed one of Bobby’s perpetually available firearms and a handful of shells. While strolling between wrecks I loaded up the magazine… and prayed.

I got to my clearing and put down the gun. Castiel was waiting for me. He walked swiftly up to me, put both hands on my cheeks, and pressed his lips to mine. I gently, and regretfully, drew away. “Wait,” I whispered.

“What’s wrong?” the angel asked softly.

I swallowed, unhappy with what I was going to tell him. “They know. Bobby and the Winchesters, they know about Crowley.”

Cass pulled his hands down and stepped away. “You told them.”

He sounded bitter, betrayed, and rightfully so. “They already suspected something.”

“And so why have you brought me here?”

“To warn you!” I threw my hands up. “And to try and convince you to let this go. Whatever it is you think you need to do, Crowley’s going to fuck you over. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of that.”

“Of course I have.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m _losing_.” Cass looked away. “My followers are dying. If I do not do this, Raphael wins. I am doing this for you,” he said as he turned back towards me. “I am doing this to protect you. All of you! If Raphael wins you all _die_. I cannot let that happen. I _will not_ let that happen!”

“Then let us help you!” I stepped towards him. “We can figure out something together. Something that doesn’t involve that shit sitting on Hell’s throne!”

“What can you do? What can _any_ of you do?” Harshly, he added. “You are only human.”

I bit my lip in an effort to stave off tears. _Only human_. “Well, I’m sorry you think so little of us mere _humans_. Apparently our efforts don’t mean _shit_ to a high and mighty angel!”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Isn’t it? Then what else could it mean? You’d trust the fucking _King of Hell_ over us! Over ME!” I turned on my heel and tried to stomp off.

“No!” Castiel grabbed my arm. “You misunderstand—“

This was going badly. And then it got exponentially worse. “LET GO OF HER!”

At Dean’s roar, Cass released me. I stumbled a few steps forward and nearly tripped over a rock. An oddly well-placed rock. It finally dawned on me that my sanctuary wasn’t looking quite the same as it had; a circle of stones now surrounded the center. It was on my lips to warn Castiel when Sam lit a matchbook and dropped it. Holy fire spring up around the astonished angel. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Getting answers,” Bobby tersely replied. “Knew you’d show up here.”

Castiel glanced around before settling his gaze on me. “This was a trap?”

I whirled on Dean. “Was it?”

“She didn’t know,” Sam said quietly.

Dean and I were glaring at one another. There was something in his eyes… oh, hell no. Was he jealous? Why the fuck would he be jealous? How much had he seen?

While we were busy silently arguing, Bobby had begun an interrogation. “How exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?”

“It’s hard to understand,” Cass pleaded. Dean finally looked away from me to hear the angel’s sorry excuses. “It’s hard to explain. Just let me go. Let me out and I can—“

“You got to look at me, man,” Dean cut in. “You got to level with me and tell me what’s going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not working with _Crowley_. Tell me she lied about it.” Castiel’s eyes slid from me to Dean before settling away from both of us. The answer was plain. “You son of a bitch,” Dean hissed. “You’re in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory _together_?”

“I did it to protect you,” Cass repeated. “I did it to protect all of you!”

“Protect us how?” Sam growled. “By opening a hole into _monsterland_?”

“To get the souls.” Souls? What did souls have to do with anything? “I can stop Raphael. _Please_ , you have to trust me.”

“Trust you? How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?”

“I’m still me. I’m still your friend. Sam… _I’m_ the one who raised you from Perdition.”

“What?”

“What?” I echoed. That couldn’t be true. _It couldn’t_. Because if it was, then all the shit that had happened, Sam, the baby, _all of it_ , was on Castiel’s shoulders.

The angel was looking only at me, the guilt on his face plain. “It went wrong. Horribly wrong.”

Sam wasn’t having any of it. “Did you bring me back soulless on purpose?”

Aghast, Castiel snapped his eyes over to him. “How could you think that?”

“Did you tell Crowley to take Lisa and Ben?” Dean asked harshly.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Castiel might have been lying to us all this time, but it was a lie of omission. He still couldn’t dissemble convincingly, and the incredulity in his voice was too genuine to be false. Whatever was going on with the Braedens was on Crowley’s shoulders. It was a small silver lining on this whole dark cloud of suspicion and regret.

The other three continued throwing deprecations at Castiel. He kept digging his heels in. They were basically down to threats and ultimatums, which made me realize that, as the only person here who hadn’t taken a side, I had a decision to make. Go with Bobby and the Winchesters and stop Castiel from completing this disastrous plan, or go with Castiel and trust him like he wanted us to. Continue to blame Sam for the loss of my child or begin to blame Cass. Go with my head or go with my heart. The logical decision versus…

Fuck it.

I kicked a clump of dirt right onto the closest part of the holy fire circle. It only extinguished that single part, but it was enough. Between one blink and the next Castiel was gone.

In the light of the fading flames I could make out three incredulous faces. When I spun on my heel to leave, Dean’s hand clamped down on my arm, ironically in the same manner that he’d chastised Castiel over. He didn’t say a word as he dragged me back to the house, down to the basement, and straight into the panic room. Bobby and Sam followed several feet behind.

“What the FUCK, Eva?” Dean shouted at me as he tossed me forward. “We had him! We were gettin’ somewhere!”

“Oh, fuck you, Dean,” I scoffed. “You guys weren’t getting _anywhere_ with him. What, were you just going to leave him there for eternity? Neither side was giving a goddamn inch!”

“At least it would have stopped him from joining up with Crowley. Now he’s who the fuck knows where, Lisa and Ben are who the fuck knows where, and for all we know all sorts of shit could be going down right now!”

I was ready to fight back with all the indignity I could muster, but then Bobby came at me with, “You do it because of last night?”

I drew myself up, folded my arms, and straight up fibbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The older hunter gave an exasperated sigh. “You really gonna pretend I didn’t see what I saw?”

“Pretend all you want. There’s nothing to tell.”

I finally noticed that we were one member short, a mystery that was quickly solved once Sam’s overly grown mop appeared in the doorway. “I found it,” he told Bobby quietly.

“Found what?” Dean asked warily as Sam handed the thing over.

Oh, fuck me.

It was a long, blue tie. I guess Cass _had_ forgotten something. He could apparently conjure them back up on demand; he sure as hell wasn’t missing it in that clearing. Unfortunately, it was one piece that was hard to pin on anyone else other than his coat. Nevertheless, I tried. “If you guys are going to use my bed while I’m not here then don’t leave your shit on my floor.”

“Except all our ties are either patterned or black,” Sam refuted.

Shit. It had been a wild guess on my part; all men own ties, right? I’d actually never seen either brother wear one, though living at Bobby’s made me aware that a lot of hunters use various suit-wearing law enforcement agencies as cover. I took more circuitous routes when I strolled into towns; spying, breaking into files, threatening the local low-life, things like that. It was simple, effective, and didn’t lead to complicated shitshows like the one unfolding around me.

“Cass,” Dean stated, dumbfounded. “You slept with _Cass_.”

“And?” I demanded.

“So, what, you going through all of us?” He let loose a harsh chuckle. “You fucking _Bobby_ next?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” I retorted furiously. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Dean,” Bobby said apprehensively.

“Me?” Dean got close and shouted down at me. “I’m not the person who let our only source of info out because they’re _fucking_ them! I’m not the one who’s fucked almost EVERYONE in this room!”

I knew, at least impassively, that Dean’s words were the result of stress over Lisa and Ben, not to mention the additional strain of having to deal with a brother who could, at any point in time, go completely batshit. But, like a lot of things that night, I let my emotions have the reins. One knee to the balls had Dean stumbling backwards bent at the waist. A followup punch to the temple had him falling face first onto the ground.

I’d moved too fast for the other two to react, but none of us were prepared for the applause that erupted from the side of the room. “Oh, bravo!” Balthazar called cheerfully. “Bloody brilliant that was. Could we have an encore?”

“What the hell do you want?” Bobby growled at him.

“Me? Well, I’d like to go back to drinking ‘75 Dom out of a soprano’s navel, but apparently I’m needed to pass along a message: Cass and his lot are looking for them and they’ll find them, providing you stand with him in this whole Purgatory business.”

“He told you?” Sam asked as he helped his brother to his feet.

“Eh, quite.”

“Did he tell you about Crowley?” Dean managed to ask through gritted teeth. Here’s hoping he had cracks in his ribs in the same shape as my boot heel.

“Sorry, what?”

“Handshake deal,” Sam said. “Go _halfsies_ on all the souls of Purgatory. He fill you in on that?”

“Well, yes, yes. Yes, of course he did. Yes.” I swear, even the most earthly, debauched angels can’t lie convincingly.

Dean shook off his brother’s hold. “He’s givin’ us the same damn ransom note as Crowley.” He strolled up to Balthazar and glowered. “How about you deliver a message for me? Tell Cass that he and his butt-buddy can kiss my ass!”

Balthazar was looking at Dean as if he were insane. I swear, these guys can’t get anything done without being dicks to each other. “Can you find them?” I asked quietly. “I mean, on your own. Without the strings attached.”

“For you, pretty lady?” I almost thought he was sincere before he added, “No.” Prick.

“They’re _innocents_ ,” Dean pleaded. “They got nothing to do with this. How about you see if there’s a shred of decency under all this snarky crap and do something _useful_ for a change!”

Balthazar actually looked affronted by the accusation. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Fair enough,” and was gone.

I wanted out of the damn room and marched for the exit. Bobby was having none of it. “Where you think you’re going, young lady?”

“Out.” Really, I had no specific destination in mind.

“No, you’re stayin’ right here.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Bobby hauled me over to the cot and plunked me down. “We got enough on our plate with Ben and Lisa bein’ hostages. No use givin’ Crowley a chance to get you again.”

Couldn’t argue with that. I settled for scowling up at him rather than hurl all the invectives I had in mind. The three men glanced at each other, wary over my compliance. They had a right to be suspicious; I was already shooting silent prayers to Castiel to come get me the hell out of yet another prison.

Bobby and Sam left. Dean was still scrutinizing me. “What?”

“How?” he asked. “Last time I tried to get Cass laid it was a complete fuckup.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. The initial query he’d made was bitter. The followup quip was a poor attempt at levity. “None of your business.”

“Whatever.” Dean turned towards the door. “Do I gotta lock it?”

“Do you want another knee to the balls?”

He turned slightly green. “I honestly can’t tell if that means I should or shouldn’t.”

I sighed. “Just leave it. I won’t go.” Yet. My car and sword were still parked in San Francisco, probably racking up a fortune in tickets, and I wasn’t stupid enough to try and steal that black phallus of theirs.

Once Dean was gone I walked over to the weapon rack and began testing blades. It was an excuse to keep my hands busy while I contemplated Dean’s attitude. I was leaning heavily towards him being jealous, but why? Sure, we’d had some good times, and some bad times, and one rather tear-filled night of intimacy. Was that really enough to get a guy’s heart?

I guess with Dean it was. It had been a long while since I’d thought of our first meeting, that sudden confession he’d made of our supposed future together. Certainly that whole bizarre scenario was making a lot more sense. I wondered, though, where Cass had been in all that. Was he different somehow? What cataclysmic event had caused that whole alternative timeline?

Regardless, of where or what the angel had or would be (I hate time travel), it was Dean that was here right now and Dean who I need to worry about. Did I feel something for him, other than appreciation for those perfectly symmetrical features? Maybe. However, when I weighed what I felt for Dean against what I felt for Castiel there was no comparison. Something about the elder Winchester rubbed me the wrong way, but other than his tremendous blind spot where his brother was concerned I couldn’t figure it out.

Bobby had one Japanese _katana_ , heavier than my _samjeongdo_ , but similar in shape. I pulled it from the rack and took a few experimental swings. After judging it sound, I slid my legs apart and flowed into a _kata_ of my own devise. It combined _kendo_ and _wudang_ swordsmanship, mixing forceful strikes with swift, flexible movements, both of which were necessary when dealing with beings that were both unpredictable and inhumanly strong. The familiar, dance-like movements helped wash away some of my worries… at least until I had company.

The blade quivered an inch from Balthazar’s neck. “Pretty _and_ deadly. Put me down as both scared and horny.”

Even though it wouldn’t _really_ do anything to him, I was tempted to complete my strike. Instead, I let me arms drop. “You have issues.”

“Undoubtedly. But I’m not the one who got _in flagrante delicto_ with our delusional coat-clad leader.”

Dear God, I hoped he hadn’t. Balthazar probably had an A-Z list of STDs hovering around his dick. “So you talked to him.”

“Mm.” Balthazar sighed. For once, he actually looked serious. “Look, I’ll take you and the Wonder Twins to where the female ape and her spawn are being held in return for a favor.”

“What?” If he wanted something perverse I was going to give him the same treatment I’d given Dean about an hour ago.

“You speak to Cassie and get him to abandon this whole dirty business with the demon.”

Well, that’s not what I expected. “I already tried that. Why the hell would he listen to me?”

Balthazar plumped up his imaginary breasts. “Other than the obvious way a woman gets her man to listen?” Someone had done a thorough job of dragging this angel’s head through the gutter. “At this point he won’t listen to anyone else.”

I was still uncertain as to whether or not I had that much influence on Castiel, but it couldn’t hurt to try. “Just talk to him, then.”

“Give it your best shot.”

“When?”

“After, I suppose. Neither he nor I can help you retrieve the woman; the entire place is warded specifically against us. Once your little endeavor is done, I’ll make sure Cassie’s in your presence and you can do your thing. If you want, I could show you this delightful move involving your little finger and his—“

“DEAN?” No way I wanted him to finish that sentence. Fortunately, I was loud enough to send all three of my housemates tromping down the stairs.

“Back already?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“What can I say?” Balthazar said as he swept his arms out. “I’m just that bloody brilliant.”

* * *

The operation to rescue Lisa and Ben was a catastrophe. After Balthazar dropped us off at the warehouse where they were being kept, the Winchesters and I sliced and diced our way through a horde of demons with only a few scratches and bruises to show for the effort. The Braedens were tied up in an office, thankfully unharmed, or so we thought. Lisa was carrying a black-eyed parasite who managed to stab its meatsuit in the belly before Dean was able to exorcise it.

Even though we reached the nearest hospital within ten minutes of peeling out of the scene, it was too late. The doctors informed the Winchesters (as Lisa’s “cousins”) that the blade had perforated her liver. She had bled profusely both internally and externally. By midnight, she’d be dead.

Ben was silent and still, Dean was quietly guilt-ridden, and Sam was uncomfortable, having not known either Braeden outside of their association with his brother. I shed enough tears for all four of us, however. This was just monstrously unfair. All of it was about _if, if, if_. If Lisa hadn’t known Dean, hadn’t taken him in; if I hadn’t let him go to her in the first place; if Castiel and Crowley weren’t working together…

I was the only one who couldn’t pass as a family member and was stuck outside in the waiting room to cry. It’s why I missed Castiel’s initial arrival; he went directly to Lisa’s bedside. I only knew he’d arrived when a hand fell on my shoulder. “Evangeline.”

I stood up immediately and rounded the plastic chairs. When I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed he held me tight. “I fixed it,” he murmured into my ear. “She’ll be all right.”

“Oh, thank God,” I whispered. I kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

I looked over his shoulder to see Dean staring venomously at us from the hallway. I didn’t want to add any more strain to this whole scenario and gently stepped away. “I’m sorry,” Cass said sadly.

“I know.” I used my sleeve and the heel of my palm to wipe my eyes. “But you see what Crowley’s capable of.”

“Yes.” Nice, simple answer, but definitely not committing to anything. I needed to talk to him more.

Dean was glancing back and forth from Lisa’s door to us. When his eyes widened and he began stepping towards the woman’s door I gave Castiel a small smile and began heading towards the hallway. The angel stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” The hell was going on now?

“Leave them be. Please.”

I was completely baffled. “I’m just going to say ‘hi’. What’s the problem?”

“It’s… It’s that… Dean…”

Maybe Cass had picked up that hostility Dean was shooting at us. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be right back.” I patted his hand and headed for Lisa’s room.

Only…

Only the conversation I walked into made absolutely no sense whatsoever. “Who’re you?” Ben was asking.

“I’m Dean. Uh, I’m the guy who hit you.” Hit him? Hit him with what?”

Lisa was giving Dean the same admiring look most women gave him, but there was nothing more to it, nothing that gave any indication that the man had spent a year living in her home. “Oh.”

What the fuck had he done? I lost track of their conversation as I backed away. Castiel was still standing where I’d left him, his expression both pensive and anguished. I was certain Dean had asked the angel to do something horrible, and I had a sneaking suspicion about what it was.

“Anyway,” Dean was saying, his voice quivering slightly, “I’ll leave you two alone. You take care of your mom.”

He turned from the room and brushed past me, obviously close to tears. I walked up and looked inside. “Lisa?” I tentatively asked.

“Hi, Eva,” she said pleasantly. “Long time no see.”

“So… you know me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?

“Yeah,” Ben added, puzzled. “You rented that room from us for a couple of months.”

I did? Might as well play along. “Oh. Yeah. Hey, I was just getting something checked out and saw you in here. Glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Lisa said with a smile. “We should catch up sometime.”

“Yeah. For sure.” Or not.

I headed back to the waiting room to find Sam standing near a morose Castiel. “Did he do it?” the younger Winchester asked furiously. “Did Dean _really_ get Cass to—“

“Yes.” I snapped. “Better go find him before he does something stupid… stupider.”

Sam marched for the exit and I looked up at the angel. Without prompting, Castiel said, “He asked.”

I was approaching the same nuclear level that Sam was at. “So you just… did it. What the _fuck_ , Cass?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes shifted to Lisa’s room, then down to me. There was a steely determination in those blue orbs that I didn’t like. Before I could ask, object, or throw out any number of profanities, Castiel’s fingers touched my forehead.

By the time Dean shook me awake, everything had gone to hell.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes “The Man Who Knew Too Much” (SPN 6.20) and “Let it Bleed” (SPN 6.21).


	16. 16

* * *

“C’mon, Eva,” I heard. “We don’t got time for this!”

I knew that voice. ”Fuck you, Dean,” I managed to mumble.

“Well,” came Bobby’s voice, “least we know _she’s_ still normal.”

With great effort, I opened my eyes. Two worried men were looking down at me. “Hello.”

“Hello yourself.”

They reached out and helped me up to a sitting position. My head pounded and my vision blurred. “How long have I been out?” I asked as I rubbed my temples.

“Couple o’ days.”

I blinked several times to clear my sight. Wherever we were it was nowhere familiar. We were surrounded by curved white stone walls, blood, and a plethora of surgical instruments. Some sort of sigil was painted to my left. I had been lying down on some sort of archaic metal gurney, complete with restraints. Those were not currently around any of my limbs, but the red outlines on my wrists said that at some point they _had_ been. “Where are we?”

Dean turned away from me to see to a prone body, one whose hair and height identified him as Sam. “Some kinda lab of Crowley’s,” Bobby answered.

I pulled my legs over to hang down the side of my wretchedly uncomfortable bed. “Crowley’s? Why the hell would I be here?”

“Bobby,” Dean called, “I need help.”

“I’ll explain everything,” Bobby told me. “I promise.”

He hurried over to help shoulder Sam’s limp form. A trickle of blood dipped down the younger Winchester’s nostril as his head lolled to one side, and after seeing Dean’s harried expression, I stifled my queries. Whatever was going on, it was _bad_.

When I tried to get to my feet, however, I nearly fainted. Guess Cass hadn’t thought about the whole human nutrient need after he’d knocked me out. I sat heavily back down onto the gurney. Bobby looked back at me worriedly, but I waved him off. “Just give me a bit.” He nodded and continued helping Dean get his brother up the stairs.

My eyes slid to the sigil on the wall. I knew, looking at that horrid, spiky mandala, that the whole Purgatory plan had come to fruition. What I _didn’t_ know were the details. Had Crowley still gotten his half? Was Raphael taken care of? Where was Balthazar? Oh God, whose body was splattered all over the floor? I glanced around, my heart pounding in fear. No coat, at least. Small favors, I suppose.

The tension that was building up during my survey of my surroundings exploded when a hand dropped to my shoulder. I shrieked as its owner quietly said my name. “Evangeline?”

Relief flooded through me. I twisted at the waist in order to throw my arms around his neck. “Castiel!” I leaned back as he rounded the gurney. Soon as he was in front of me I smacked him across the face with my palm. It was like hitting a brick wall.

“Ow?” he queried, as if testing to see if that was the correct response.

I ignored my throbbing hand. “ _That’s_ for doing whatever the hell you did to me.”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Angelic logic. “So… knocking me out and carting me here was making sure I was safe?”

Castiel’s head cocked slightly to one side. With honest confusion, he replied, “Yes?”

Good grief. Whatever else either of us wanted to say was interrupted by the groan and scrape of the exit door. I was surprised to see the venomous glare Dean pointed at Castiel. It was more than just jealousy at this point, and combined with the similar scowl on Bobby’s face it meant nothing good. Cass, for his part, only looked down and away. “I will meet you all at Bobby’s home,” he said quietly. The great flapping of wings signaled his sudden departure.

Dean walked up and slid an arm under my legs in order to carry me bridal-style. “Before we go,” I said as I placed my arm around his shoulders, “who was that?” I jerked my chin over at the scattered remnants of a human body.

The elder Winchester sighed. “Balthazar. C’mon. We don’t got far to go.”

* * *

The Impala was a wreck, having been tossed by a maelstrom of demons, but Sam had driven Bobby’s truck to where we were at. It turned out to be the basement of the same mansion Crowley had zapped me to several days ago. I saw the bricked up second floor windows and recognized the shape and color of the frames. Thankfully, the place was only a few miles out from Sioux Falls, Crowley’s little “fuck you” to the Winchesters and their father-figure. Sam was laid out in the bed of the truck and Bobby insisted I join him. He gave me several blankets to both lie on and cover up with before we were on our way.

At Bobby’s home, he and Dean hauled Sam down into the panic room before coming back for me. I was still annoyingly weak from a lack of food and water and, after being sat with a blanket and a bunch of pillows on the living room couch, gratefully tucked into the canned broth Bobby heated up for me. Castiel stood in the darkest corner of the room doing his best not to call attention to himself. As I ate, the other two men filled me in.

The current apocalyptic dilemma began shortly after we’d left the mind-wiped Braedens at the hospital (something that Dean and I really needed to have a discussion about). After Sam had confronted his brother about that singularly selfish decision he’d gone back inside to retrieve me, only to find both Cass and I were gone. They assumed, wrongly, that we just wanted some time alone and went merrily back to Sioux Falls.

Nothing in either Bobby’s or Samuel’s libraries had anything concrete about Purgatory, but the journal of a Moishe Campbell had hinted that the writings of H.P. Lovecraft was telling a twisted version truth when it spoke of doors and Old Ones. One thing led to another, and Bobby’s journey to discover the minutia ended at the cabin doorway of an old friend of his, Eleanor Visyak: _a Purgatory native_. With Eve dead, Eleanor was the only such being left on Earth, and had therefore become a hot commodity. Who else would know how to get into Purgatory than a creature who’d been born there? Bobby begged his friend to go with him, that for all her precautions she was vulnerable, but she refused.

And Castiel found her.

Bobby turned towards the angel. “You wanna tell Eva what you did?” he asked furiously.

While still not looking at any of us, Cass said, “We needed to know the ritual. Crowley tortured her first. She wouldn’t speak. So I made her.”

“ _You_ tortured her. YOU KILLED HER!” Bobby roared. Castiel flinched.

At this point I didn’t know whose side to take, but I still needed to know what was going on. No, correction: I knew Cass was in the wrong. I just couldn’t bring myself to be angry at him yet. “Bobby,” I said gently, directing the older hunter back to telling the tale.

They tracked Eleanor’s phone to an alleyway in Kansas City. The dying woman explained what had happened, and wondered, deliriously, why there had also been an unconscious woman in the room. At one point, Eleanor said, the demon and the angel argued over the other body (me, I suppose), but what about she had no idea. More relevantly, Eleanor revealed that a Purgatory native’s blood was the key, and they had taken a copious, fatal amount. She died in the midst of apologizing for her weakness.

Castiel had appeared, then, and warned them off their interference. Being the stubborn idiots they all were, everyone continued to hold fast to their positions. Therefore, Cass took matters a step further.

“He broke Death’s wall,” Dean growled. “Sam’s head is…” He wiped a hand down his face, at a loss for words.

I turned towards the angel, eyebrows lifted. “Why?”

“To keep them away,” he answered stiffly.

Neither Bobby nor Dean knew exactly what happened next in regards to the Purgatory plan. They hauled Sam back to Singer Salvage and angel-proofed the panic room. Balthazar showed up shortly afterwards to hand over Crowley and Castiel’s location. After penning a small note to Sam, they’d taken the Impala to the mansion. A whirlwind of demonic smoke had flipped the car, delaying the hunters long enough to allow Purgatory to be opened.

The two hunters, bruised but alive, rushed towards the mansion, only to watch helplessly as the souls were absorbed by _Raphael_. Soon afterwords Sam arrived, having fought his way through his delusions to join the fight, and, in a valiant but ultimately futile gesture, stabbed the archangel in the back with an angel blade. Raphael had merely smirked as Sam fell over, succumbing again to his psychological impairment.

“And?” I wondered.

The other two looked over at Cass. I guess only he could fill in the blanks. With a sigh, he shook his head. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Dean asked indignantly.

“I will tell Evangeline. She can tell you.”

Bobby and Dean exchanged annoyed glances. “That don’t make sense,” Bobby said.

“It is… _easier_ for me to tell this without being judged.”

“Well, that’s a burden you’re just gonna have to deal with. What makes you think we’re leaving you alone with Eva here when you kidnapped her the last time?”

“What he said,” Dean added.

Castiel folded his arms mulishly, but I could see in his eyes the terrible toll their words and attitudes were having on him. He hid it under feigned irritation. “I have just seen all my plans laid to waste. Raphael may, at this very moment, be slaughtering all that followed me. I watched him immolate a friend I have had for untold eons. Forgive me, but I am not in the mood for further chastisement on either of your parts… as deserved as they may be,” he added quietly.

To my surprise, Dean actually softened. A millimeter, maybe, but it was enough. He clapped a hand onto Bobby’s shoulder and lurched to his feet. “C’mon. We should go check on Sam.” Bobby stood and gave Castiel one last silent warning before following Dean down to the panic room.

Cass, however, didn’t move. “Hello?” I ventured.

“They are so angry with me,” he said despondently. “I shouldn’t have done any of it. I should have found another way.”

Oh, goodie. Cass had hung around Dean so much he was picking up those self-loathing vibes the man gave out. “Come here,” I ordered.

“I—“

“Nope.” I wasn’t interested in anymore damning sentences. I grabbed the nearest book and threw it at him. It thumped onto his chest before fluttering to the floor. “Come. Here.”

He picked up the book and put it on a stack. When the angel got close enough, I reached up and pulled him down to his knees by his tie. “Now you listen to me,” I growled into his face. “You were trying to save us. You were trying to save your family. You fucked up and it all went to shit. _Get over it_.”

Astonished blue eyes widened. “But—“

“Raphael is still out there, only now he’s full of nuke. That means we’ve still got shit to do. So if you can’t get over it, _shelve it_. Until he’s taken care of you’re not allowed to fall apart. Got it?”

“But I—“

I prevented him from fiving further objections by yanking his tie again and pulling Castiel’s mouth onto mine. He made a few stifled objections before his body slumped and his eyes shattered closed. The angel’s hand found my cheek and my fingers laced into his. For a long, long minute we did nothing but steal one another’s breath as I did what I could to tell him, wordlessly, that there was someone here who would listen to his side.

We parted slowly. “Now,” I whispered, “tell me what happened.”

* * *

_“You rang, Cass?”_

_Balthazar’s arrival was expected. Furious at his betrayal, Castiel resisted the urge to plunge his blade immediately into the other angel’s body. “Yes,” Castiel said. “We have a problem. Dean Winchester is on his way here.”_

_”Really? Oh. How’d he even know where we were?”_

_Was there another choice here? Was he going the wrong direction? Despite his pleas for guidance, Father hadn’t spoken to him. Was He, as Raphael so insisted, gone? Dead, perhaps? Castiel put the jar full of the Purgatory female’s blood onto a surgical table, his hands beginning to quiver with doubt. ”Apparently we have a Judas in our midst.”_

_Balthazar dissembled, but Castiel pretended not to hear. Without anyone else to turn to, he began to question his own decisions. Perhaps it was a mistake to cut Crowley out of their deal. Perhaps he should just use the jar now and be done with it. Perhaps he should open the door and shove Raphael through it._

_Castiel’s hand stroked the hair of his beloved, unconscious human. Perhaps he should just take Evangeline and go, leave all this behind, start anew, and let his stubborn family fix this mess on their own._

_“Cassie?” Balthazar asked tentatively as he realized he was being ignored. “Castiel?”_

_What had Evangeline said? That he had chosen the_ King of Hell _over_ her, _over them all. By the Heavens, what was he doing? How could he have been so foolish? Following the plans of a demon? Entrusting the lives of all those he loved to a creature who, by its very nature, lies, cheats, and kills as easily as it breathed? How could he have been so blinded by hubris?_

_It was time to acknowledge he was wrong. “I know it was you.”_

_Balthazar stepped back. “And?”_

_“I… I need your help.”_

_The relief on the other angel’s face made Castiel flinch. Balthazar had been expecting the other angel to meet his duplicity with violence. He had been expecting his_ friend _to do something terrible if he’d been found out, and he wouldn’t have been wrong. “Whatever it is, Cassie,” Balthazar said gamely, “just let me know. You’ve always got little old me.”_

_Castiel glanced once again at Evangeline, insuring she still slept. “We need to—“_

_The room rumbled and they lost their footing. Both angels could feel it; the sweeping approach of a contingent of demons in their purest, bodiless forms. Castiel grabbed the jar of blood and shoved it and the paper with the ritual’s words on it into Balthazar’s hands. “Go! Take these and go!”_

_But it was too late. “I can’t,” the other angel said, panic writ large on his face. “Cassie, I’m grounded.”_

_The trembling stopped. A familiar, sardonic voice crooned, “Someone clip your wings?”_

_Crowley stood before them, hands in his pockets. Immediately, Castiel slapped his hand onto the demon’s forehead to smite it… and nothing happened. “Sweaty hands, mate,” Crowley complained._

_“I don’t understand,” Castiel said as he stepped away_.

_“You can palm me all you want,” the demon proclaimed jovially. “I’m safe and sound under the wing of my new partner.”_

_And Raphael appeared._

* * *

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Why would an _archangel_ stoop to partnering with a demon?”

Castiel shook his head. “Desperate times, I suppose. He wanted the power. He wants to become God.”

My eyes widened. “Is that even possible?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

_Balthazar turned to try and physically run away while Castiel reached for Evangeline. With a wave of his hand, however, the archangel had his brothers pinned to the wall. “Stay, won’t you?”_

_“You’re a fool!” Castiel hissed at Crowley. “Raphael will deceive and destroy you at the speed of thought.”_

_“Right, right,” the demon scoffed, “‘cause you’re such a straight shooter. He’s offered me protection against all comers and, believe me, there are plenty.”_

_“We are wasting time,” Raphael said sternly. “Let us begin.”_

_All the beings in the room, save the unconscious human, could feel it: the shifting of the skies, the buildup of celestial energy, the approach of the lunar eclipse. In less than a minute, Crowley had the sigil painted with Eleanor Visyak’s purloined blood. He began to chant._

_And, with little surprise, Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer burst through the metal door of the demon’s laboratory. They spared slightly baffled looks for the lesser angels plastered to the wall before charging down the stairs towards the King and newfound ally. It was Crowley who swept their enemies away this time, quipping, “Bit busy, gentlemen. Be with you in a moment.”_

_Castiel pulled and pulled… and with his brother focused on his ritual he managed to use his seraph-imbued strength to break free. He stumbled not for Raphael, but for Evangeline, desperate to see her away from here before the ritual could be completed. When it did, Raphael would undoubtedly begin taking his revenge. What better way to demoralize his enemy by extinguishing the lives of those he loved?_

_Castiel reached her. His hand lay on her arm as a painfully bright light enveloped the room. Dean and Bobby were screaming. Balthazar was yelling profanities. The whiteness burned, and it was all Castiel could do to shield Evangeline’s body with his own. But wait. Was that oily blackness swirling amongst the souls normal? Why did it enter his brother so eagerly, almost hungrily?_

_Soon, far too soon, the portal closed. Castiel stood and ripped the restraints he’d put on Evangeline to keep her still. Before he could move, before he could do much more than touch her, an angel blade pierced his back._

_It wasn’t a fatal wound, not by any means, but its perpetrator had his reasons for not killing him right away. Castiel gasped when it was pulled out, blood rising up his throat. Raphael spun him around, grasped his shirtfront, and lifted him one-handed up into the air. Pure white celestial light, absent of the usual blue, shone within the archangel’s eyes. “I will not make a martyr of you. Instead, I shall strip you of everything you love. Your allies. Your friends. Your woman. You will watch your beloved Winchesters become the holy vessels they were meant to be. And then you will kneel before me in front of the Host as you declare me God.”_

_Balthazar withdrew his own blade, and with a surge of uncharacteristic, unselfish bravery launched himself at the archangel. With snap of his fingers Raphael obliterated their brother. His vessel exploded, as well as his essence, dissipating into a nothingness that was more than mere death. Castiel gurgled out a horrified denial._

_Crowley cleared his throat. “There is, of course, the matter of my payment.”_

_“Denied,” purred Raphael._

_“Excuse me?”_

_Raphael grinned maliciously at the demon. Castiel saw madness burgeoning in his brother’s eyes. “Flee, demon, before I decide to place another on your throne.”_

_As furious as he was, Crowley made no objections. How could he, when Raphael’s power now eclipsed his own? “Well,” the demon said flatly before he was abruptly gone._

_The archangel let Castiel drop to the floor. “Enjoy your last few days with your whore. Soon, the Apocalypse shall begin again, and she will be among the first to die.”_

* * *

“Wait,” I interjected again. “Raphael _stabbed_ you?”

“I’m fine,” Cass murmured.

Bullshit. “Oh, really. Then why don’t you go ahead and take off that coat so I can see.”

With a resigned sigh, one that made it obvious he was lying, the angel laboriously removed his first layer. I could see the red staining the bottom half all too well. Castiel removed the black suit jacket next, and there was no hiding the blood that was creeping its way around his ribs. I gasped and he grabbed my thigh for support. His arm quivered. A moment later his head had fallen into my lap. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted to save everyone.”

I screamed for Bobby. Two pairs of men’s boots hurried up the stairs. All thoughts of retribution and disappointment flew away at the sight of the angel’s back. Dean quickly tore apart Cass’ dress shirt to expose a stab wound leaking both blood and white-blue light. When I looked at Bobby, puzzled and horrified, he quickly said, “His Grace.”

I held Castiel as they wiped, disinfected, and bandaged his torso, murmuring calming banalities the entire time. By the time they were done, the angel was passed out, his arms wrapped around my waist and the top of his head pressed against my midriff. I carefully extricated myself out of his grasp and pushed myself to my feet so Bobby and Dean could arrange Cass onto the couch.

“Is he…” I swallowed. His chest still rose and fell; he wasn’t dead. “He’ll recover, right?”

“He showed up like this a time before,” Bobby explained. “Took him a bit, but he’ll be back to normal before you know it. Now,” he continued as he steered me into the kitchen, “tell us what the hell is going on.”

I sat down at the table with Bobby. Dean went to the fridge for a few beers. He plunked them down before joining us. For the next half hour I summarized what Cass had told me and fielded their questions as we drank, emphasizing the fact that the angel had both broken his pact with Crowley and had decided to abandon his plan. It wasn’t doing much to soften their stance towards him, but it at least completed the puzzle.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of it,” Dean said with no small amount of satisfaction. “Crowley got jack and shit.”

Bobby finished off his beer. “But we still got a rogue archangel running about doin’ who knows what and where.” He turned to Dean. “Not only that, but you’n’Sam might have to watch your backs for more angels like Zachariah, eager to lick their boss’s boots.”

Ugh, _that_ asshole. “Here’s hoping he was one of a kind,” I said as I raised my bottle.

“Oh, fuck that!” Dean cried as he slammed his own drink back down onto the table. “Who gives a fuck about us? We’re _safe_. That Teenage Mutant Ninja Douche can’t kill me or Sam if he wants Michael and Lucifer using us as meatsuits. It’s _you two_ we gotta worry about.”

“He’s going for the pain instead of the kill,” Bobby said with a sigh. “Small favors. Means we got time to try and fix this.”

We went silent, thinking. I’m sure Bobby was mentally running through all the lore he knew and Dean was alternatively cussing out Cass while blaming himself for something or other. I was tipping towards giving up. There was no out as far as I could see. It would have been bad enough if either Crowley or Castiel had gotten all that power, but Raphael? He was an _archangel_. From the information I could remember the power level between Raphael and Castiel and the regular God-squad was like comparing mountains and molehills. We might as well start making our bucket lists.

“No.” We all jumped at Castiel’s cry. “NO!”

I was the first to his side. He was struggling to sit up, but the wound on his back was still stubbornly soaking the bandages around his torso. “He’s killing them,” the angel gasped, his palm on his temple. “My followers. He’s taking them out, one by one. I can hear them _screaming_. I need to go.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Dean growled. He shoved Castiel back down. It was a show of how wounded the angel was that the man was able to do so. “Ain’t nothing you can do for them now. You go out there, all you’ll do is die.”

“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t… It’s my fault!”

Someone rapped on Bobby’s door. Dean, Bobby, and I all glanced at each other worriedly. We obviously weren’t expecting anyone, and the timing was far too worrisome for anything good. The knocking, however, became relentless, and Bobby was forced to go greet his visitor.

Thankfully, it was someone we all knew and trusted. “Hey, Bobby,” Jody said amiably.

“Sheriff,” he replied cautiously. I limped my way over to see what was going on.

Jody thumbed back towards her patrol car. “I got me a wounded kid back there says he’s looking for you. Or, more accurately, your house. Refused to let me take him to a hospital.”

“Surprised you didn’t just take him anyways.”

“Honestly? I would’ve. But he’s got a weird enough name that I thought you might know him from… that… other stuff.”

“Yeah? What’s the name?”

“His tag says ‘Alfie’. But he claims it’s really ‘Samandriel’.”

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “The Man Who Knew Too Much” (SPN 6.22).


	17. 17

* * *

The bloodied young man Bobby helped Jody haul in was the most unprepossessing human being I’d ever seen, and I’d hung out with math nerds back in the day. As the sheriff said, he was wearing a tag sporting the name “Alfie”. Any doubts to his claim to divinity were squashed, however, when Castiel lurched upright and cried, “Samandriel!”

“Easy!” Dean said as he once again pushed his friend back towards the couch. This time, however, Cass won the pissing fight. He shoved Dean aside, stood, and staggered towards his brother.

The wounded angels collapsed into each others’ arms. Castiel, however, took precedence and cradled his brother’s head in the crook of his arm in order to maneuver Samandriel into his lap. “Castiel,” the boy murmured deliriously. “I knew I could find you here.”

“An ally?” I asked gently as I knelt down with them.

“A neutral party,” Castiel replied grimly. “He should not have been involved!”

Samandriel gripped his brother’s lapels. In a quivering voice, the angel uttered, “Raphael… he has gone _insane_. He… He came to Heaven. He ordered us all to kneel. His power is unfathomable! Those who fought are dead. Those of us who would not decide he is torturing.”

Dean kneeled down as well. “How’d you get out?”

“He _allowed_ me to escape. He _wants_ you to know what he is doing to us in Heaven! Please, Castiel,” Samandriel begged hoarsely, “save us.”

The boy’s eyes closed. Without looking away from his brother’s face, Castiel asked, “Please care for him. He‘s not dead yet.”

There was a beat of silence, of hesitation on the others’ parts, during which Jody glowered magnificently at Bobby and Dean. I guess she hadn’t been privy to the details of all this Purgatory nonsense; she wasn’t too happy at their reticence regarding their celestial friend’s request. “Of course,” the sheriff stated definitively. “Bobby, Dean: get him on that sofa there.”

The other two were bigger, stronger, and deadlier, but at Sheriff Mills’ command the men leapt to obey. I could understand their eagerness; Jody knew how to get anyone to do what she wanted using that whiplash of a tone. She really needed to give me lessons on being a non-hunting badass.

Carefully, Bobby grabbed Samandriel’s ankles while Dean lifted him from Castiel’s lap. Cass remained on the floor, ignored. Indignant at their treatment, I slid my arm under his shoulder and helped him to his feet. “Let them handle Samandriel,” I said quietly. “You need more rest.”

“No, I—“

“You _really_ want to fight me on this one? Because as many times as you’ve put me into the dirt I’m pretty sure I could kick your ass all the way up the stairs in your current condition.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. I took that as consent and started the laborious process of getting him up to my room. The others, preoccupied with making sure Samandriel’s injuries weren’t fatal, didn’t bother objecting. I could feel Dean’s eyes boring into my back, however, and turned my head slightly to give him a glare in return.

After getting the angel to sit on my bed, I closed the door. He was stripped to the waist, but was still wearing his bloodied trousers and shoes. I knelt down to tug at his laces. “What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.

“You shouldn’t sleep with these on,” I said. “Remember?”

I gave Castiel a smile, hoping that he’d find some amusement from the time he’d asked me to help him sleep, but all he did was sigh. Rather than dwell on his Winchester-like proclivity to brood, I finished removing his shoes. When I moved my hands to his belt, however, he snatched my wrist. “What are you doing now?”

“Trying to get you comfortable, dumbass,” I snarled.

“By stripping me?”

“Well, most humans don’t sleep well with wet pants on!”

“Well, I’m not human, am I?”

The bitterness in his voice took me aback. I’d spent enough time around these guys to tell me what was coming next. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“You shouldn’t spend your heart on me.” _Goddamnit_ , he said it. “Find another human who would is worthy of you. Dean—“

“Oh, fuck Dean and fuck every other fucking human male out there!” I snapped as I shot to my feet. “In fact, fuck every single fucking male in fucking existence!” Okay, so I was bereft of creative adjectives. I was just so sick and tired of all the self-hate infusing this house. There was enough of it in my own head, thank you very much. I made to leave, but his hand was still on my wrist. “Let go.”

“Why?” He sounded so desperate, so despondent. “Why will you not let me do this for you?”

Didn’t he understand? No, I suppose not. It wasn’t as if Cass had a wealth of experience to draw from. “Because it isn’t your decision to make. It’s _mine_. I chose you, and if you’re trying to take that decision away from me then you’re no better than the monster who scarred my back.” I jerked my wrist out of his grip. “ _He_ didn’t have any problems telling me who I should love either.”

I waited impatiently while the angel digested this information. I wondered if any of his kind had ever had to deal with this sort of emotional hardship. Probably not. Judging by those angels I’d met so far, I suspected there were three types: those like Zachariah, whose focus on their mission left no room for morals; those like Castiel, whose naïveté left them tragically unprepared; and those like Balthazar, whose discovery of life’s pleasures had them diving straight into hedonism. I would meet others later with far more complicated motivations (Metatron, Gadreel, _Lucifer_ ) and it would make me realize just how very human, how very _flawed_ , these purportedly perfect celestial creatures actually were.

Castiel sighed and gently tugged on my sleeve. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking of me, but I decided to sit on his lap anyways. He touched his forehead to mine. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.

This simple gesture, his breath ghosting across my face, was enough to make my heart pound. I had _never_ wanted someone so strongly before, and there was only one response I could give. “Yes, you do,” I countered softly. I briefly pressed my lips to his. “You stay here. You heal. _And you love me_.”

I kissed him again. After a brief hesitation, the angel’s mouth opened and I responded in kind. I moved my legs to either side of his hips, our lips never parting. When he lifted the hem of my shirt, I drew back to let him take it off. I unclasped my bra and his kisses wandered down to my breast. We tilted onto the bed, Castiel on his back, and I finally managed to undo his belt.

It was gentle at first. I rode him slowly, cautious of his injury. His hands gently stroked my skin as our tongues danced. But for everyone’s insistence that angels had little in the way of emotions, Castiel let his get away from him. I inhaled a sharp gasp as the grip he had on my ribs tightened past pleasure into pain. He then grabbed my biceps, pushed me up, and flipped me onto my back, all while still sheathed deep inside me.

I saw the desperation, the fury, and the misery devastatingly painted on those ancient blue eyes. He was angry at himself, at Dean, at Raphael; deep in mourning for those that had been killed and were even now in danger of losing their lives; and frightened of losing everything good that he had gained on Earth. It was a complex stew of darkness that in the heat of our lovemaking the angel didn’t know how to handle.

Castiel’s hands hadn’t left my arms. I reached up as far as I could and stroked his side as he drew in a shuddering breath, unable to find the words for what he wanted, what he _needed_. But I knew what it was. Cass needed to _forget_ , even if it was only for a little while. He needed to lose himself in something completely, and it needed to be something that he could claim selfishly without feeling guilt. It was a desire I could empathize with, something that I’d used men for more than once; that Sam had often used me for when a hunt had been particularly frustrating; and that Dean had used me for in mourning.

The angel swallowed. “I… I…”

I nodded. I would do this for him. We all make sacrifices for the ones we love. “I know.”

My words gave him the permission he sought. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of my neck, his muscles tightening under my fingers. He slowly put one hand on my mouth, quivering as he inhaled, before thrusting sharply into me. My back arched as I cried out against his palm, the harshness of his movement as startling as it was exhilarating. Once more, and another, before he began driving into me with great abandon.

It lasted seconds, minutes, hours; I have no idea. The passage of time meant nothing. I spent it clutching the angel’s back, my nails digging into his skin, knees forced upwards by the angle of his hips. The position put me completely, utterly, at the mercy of his desires, and I surrendered both my body and my heart to his needs. His low grunts went directly into my ear, and the sound of his pleasure and the grind against my sex brought me to my peak. I came down as he was meeting his end, his back stiffening while his arms crushed me against him, a low moan escaping his throat.

For a long, long minute we lay still, his weight on me as we caught our breath, relishing a hard sought moment of peace. It didn’t take long, however, for Castiel to shatter it on his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he slipped out of me to lay on his back.

Sorry for his roughness, for the ache between my legs. Sorry for the friendship with Dean that might irrevocably be broken. Sorry for his mistakes, for choosing to go along with the King of Hell, for the deaths that were happening because of his choices. “Don’t,” I murmured. I pushed myself up, put one hand on his other side, and looked down at him through a curtain of hair. “Not yet.”

The angel reached up to hook a lock of my hair behind my ears. “I’ll try.”

I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. He returned it and gave me a tired smile. For some, stupid, _stupid_ reason I felt optimistic. We _would_ find a way to stop Raphael, Castiel _would_ reconcile with Dean, Sam _would_ wake up and be fine, and the angel in my bed _would_ be here with me always. Brightened by my suppositions, I rested my head on Castiel’s shoulder as his arm curled around me.

I awoke the next morning to the shuffle of the angel getting dressed. There was no sign of Raphael’s stab wound, for which I was grateful, but I had a very important question. “Going somewhere?” I asked as I snapped upright.

“Yes.”

Of course he wasn’t going to supply a complete answer like a normal person. “And that somewhere would be…?”

“To find someone.”

Castiel hadn’t turned in my direction once. I reached over and pulled at the belt of his trench coat. “Hey.”

“I healed your bruises. You should not be feeling any pain. I should go.”

I pulled harder, to the point where he had to either rip off the garment or sit on the bed. He chose the latter. “You better tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours or I’ll saw open your skull and take a look for myself.”

He stared at his lap. “I hurt you.”

“And?”

“I never should have done so.”

I sighed. “Look, Castiel. You think you’re the first guy to get a little rough with me?”

“It is not how I should be showing you how I feel. I used you for my own gain. I took—“

“No.” I put my hand on his chin and turned his gaze my way. “I _offered_. _I_ was doing something for _you_. Look,” I sighed as I let go. His eyes stayed with mine. “I’m not a delicate little princess in a castle, Cass. You treat me like one and it’s going to get really fucking ugly.”

The angel’s brow furrowed. He cocked his head to one side. “I understand.”

“Good.”

“But if you are doing things for me, then I must do things for you.”

“Sure.”

“So I am going to go find Death to make sure you survive.”

“Okay—wait, what?” I could hear that capital D. What in the world could he be up to?

“There are very few beings more powerful than Raphael now. Death is the only one I know of that still walks this Earth.” He lay a kiss on my lips. “Can you trust me?”

There was a lot lying under that simple question. It wasn’t so much whether I could trust Castiel with this simple, deadly task, it was whether I could trust him _period_. The Winchesters obviously didn’t, Bobby didn’t trust anyone, and the celestial pantheon was in such a mess who knew where their loyalties lay? I was the only one in his life who didn’t feel betrayed by his decisions.

A lot of power was in my hands. I could say no, beg Castiel to stay, tell him how much I really did fear for his life, and use his love for me to chain him to my side. Or I could say yes, and give him the same freedom to act, the _trust_ in his decisions, that I expected in return.

I wanted to say no. But of course, I said, “Yes.”

A rush of wings and air and he was gone. Castiel was right, when it came down to it; Death was the key to defeating Raphael. But in a twist of fate, one that I would come to often associate with the goddamn Winchesters, things went awry, and it was my angel who suffered for it.

* * *

“He went to get _who_?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“Death.”

“And why?”

“Because God isn’t around, and unless you want to go digging around in Hell for Michael and Lucifer who else is more powerful than a jacked up archangel?”

Bobby glowered at me, arms crossed. “I _guess_.”

I threw up my hands. “What did you expect me to do? Tie him down?”

“At least convince him to talk it over! And I don’t need to know what kinda kinky shenanigans you two get up to, you know.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ew, Bobby! Why do you even know about that?”

The smile Bobby Singer gave me was so softly patriarchal it put me immediately on alert. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you sound genuinely happy.”

Oh, good grief. “It’s just… you know…”

“Look, I’m not sayin’ I totally approve, especially with all the nonsense Cass has been up to lately, but I know he’s as good a guy as any we’ve met. Especially for an angel.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You just be careful, y’hear?”

I resisted making a quip about birth control; I’d learned my lesson with Sam and had had an IUD inserted in the week leading up to my Crowley abduction. Besides, if it was Bobby asking me to be careful it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the dangers of being with a man that wasn’t human. “I will.” Speaking of human… “Hey, where’s Dean?”

“Out fixin’ his car. Recruited Samandriel to help him knock out some dents.”

After grabbing a mug of coffee, I headed out to the scrapyard. Samandriel had healed from his beating, and though the newest of our angelic acquaintances was still incredibly wary about being out in the open he was eager to repay us for our hospitality. I found the him lying inside the Impala, his feet on the ceiling, with Dean helpfully instructing, “Just ease into it, but make sure you ain’t goin’ all super-angel and make the top go flying off into space. Now, you’re gonna go, but not too hard and not too soft. So big push, but not _too_ big, okay?”

A rightfully bewildered Samandriel replied, “Okay?”

I watched the angel heave (not too hard and not too soft) until the bent part of the Impala’s roof popped back into place. Dean gave a sigh of relief before acknowledging my presence. “Where’s Cass?”

“Said he went to go find Death,” I told him.

“Makes sense. Surprised he could walk on out of here after what you two were up to last night.”

What was he talking about? I _know_ I was quiet. “What, were you peeking in through the keyhole?”

Dean gave me a salacious smirk. “Heard the bed squeaking from downstairs.”

Shit. Wait… “My bed doesn’t squeak!”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Truth is, I went up to see if he was okay and heard you guys going at it. Figured he was doing all right if he was doing you.”

There was still a measure of resentment in his tone. “You want to say something, then say it.”

“Fine.” Dean folded his arms and glowered down. “I don’t like it.”

I mimicked the gesture. Of course, with the height disparity I looked much less forbidding. “What makes you think I care?”

“Look, Cass lied to us, used us, cracked Sam’s gourd like it was nothing! I don’t get why you wanna ignore all the shit he’s done.”

Now _that_ I had a good comeback to. “Right. Just like you want to ignore all the shit your brother did.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Oh, don’t be bringin’ that back up…”

“I’m not talking about the shit he put me through!” Well, mostly. “That was bad enough. But you know how many people he almost killed? How many people he _did_ kill?”

“Sam didn’t have a soul! But far as we know Cass has been the same freaking angel this whole time. And he _still_ did all that crap!”

Fair point, but I wasn’t done. “Okay, what would you have done? Tell me, oh great Dean fucking Winchester, how would you have solved the problem of an _archangel_ whose purpose is to restart the goddamn Apocalypse?”

“I dunno! But at least I would’ve asked for help from a _friend_. Not the fucking King of Hell!”

“You rang?”

Samandriel, who up until then had just been watching wide-eyed as the two humans in front of him had a tremendous row, went immediately full-on angel, eyes shining with a piercing blue light. He stepped in front of Dean and I and declared, ”Demon!”

Crowley let loose a lugubrious sigh and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. Have been for some time now.” He eyed Dean over the angel’s shoulder. “How long has this one been out of diapers?”

“The fuck do you want?” Dean growled. _He_ pushed me even farther back until I was nearly squished between him and his precious car.

“To help.”

“Why?” Now the hunter barreled his way in front of Samandriel, whose power-up fizzled at being shoved aside. The angel settled for further boxing me in.

“My innate altruism.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine, fine. Self-preservation! Do you know that bloated archangel dared to dictate to me how I should run Hell? And then threatened to smite me if I disobeyed!” Indignantly, Crowley added, “Where does he get off?”

“About time someone spanked your ass,” I threw out from behind the wall of testosterone.

“You can do that any day, darling.” Gross. “Point is, you lot tend to be rather… resourceful in these sorts of situations. I thought I’d lend a hand.”

I didn’t believe a damn word he was saying, but Dean acquiesced. “Fine. But first sign you’re screwing us over and I’m shoving an angel blade up your ass myself.”

“Looking forward to it,” Crowley said merrily.

“Alfie,” Dean said to Samandriel, “go to the side of the house. There’s a door; put him in the basement. Should still be a devil’s trap painted on the floor.”

“Hey!” shouted the demon as Samandriel grabbed his bicep. “This is _not_ how synergy works!”

I shoved my way past Dean to follow. “We ain’t done,” he uttered.

“Look,” I growled as I spun on my heel, “your beef is with Cass, not with me.” At least most of it was. “So stop riding my ass!”

Poor phrasing; I could see his cogs creaking around that unintentional innuendo. Thankfully, he let it go. “Just tell him we need to talk next time you see him.”

“Fine.”

I hurried towards the house to see if Samandriel needed any help. Crowley complained about his mistreatment the entire way there, loud enough that Bobby heard from inside. He met us down in his cellar, shotgun cocked, just as the angel was tossing the King into a faded, but still intact, trap. “You wanna tell me why this pile of shit is on my property?”

“He says he can help,” I supplied.

“How?” Bobby asked derisively.

“With at least _some_ inside information,” Crowley sneered. “At the very least I can tell you that your time to do whatever it is you have up your sleeves is running out. Raphael’s vessel is about to explode.”

* * *

We left the demon downstairs to stew and convened in the living room. Dean and I thought that Raphael’s imminent combustion was a good thing. He’d be dead, no one would be looking to restart the Apocalypse, all could go back to what constituted for us as normal. Of course, it couldn’t possibly be that simple.

“Should Raphael’s vessel explode on Earth,” Samandriel explained, “all the souls he has consumed will be allowed to wander freely. Millions upon millions of monster’s souls wreaking havoc on humankind.”

“What about if that happens in Heaven?” I asked.

“The souls would be annihilated. Heaven was meant only for angels and human souls. All else would be obliterated by the celestial light.”

“Problem solved, then. Get him to go upstairs and wait for the bomb to go off.”

“Not that easy!” Crowley shouted from downstairs.

“And why is that?” Bobby shouted back.

“Tell them about the Leviathan!”

Samandriel shifted uncomfortably. “God made Leviathan before us, before you. They… They do nothing but consume. Purgatory was made to confine them. It is… very possible Raphael is carrying them inside of his vessel.”

“And?” I said gently. The subject was obviously not one that he relished.

“Leviathan are stronger than most of us. Heaven would be destroyed.”

Oh, wonderful. “So we’re fucked.”

Samandriel cocked his head slightly at my colloquialism, a gesture so reminiscent of Castiel that I unconsciously stiffened, suddenly worried on his behalf. Ever more aware than I gave him credit for, Bobby put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure whatever he’s doing, Cass has got it covered.”

“Yeah?” Dean said doubtfully. “Let’s just hope _this_ plan of his won’t blow up in our face.”

* * *

Sam woke up later that day, disoriented. He was remarkably, unbelievably, steady, a state that neither Bobby nor I took at face value. Dean, however, was so desperate for something positive to happen that he just shrugged and left his brother to his delusions of sanity. The two Winchesters, with Samandriel’s eager aid, then set out to finish the Impala’s restoration.

Bobby and I stayed indoors, alternatively researching anything we could find about these Leviathan and handling “normal” hunting duties. In Bobby’s case it was fielding phone calls and questions from other hunters; in mine, it was keeping an eye and ear out for occurrences strange enough to merit an archangel losing his marbles.

“Hey, got something,” I called out from the kitchen. It was evening; the boys were cracking beers in the living room after having cleaned up (I insisted; nothing worse than the smell of two large sweaty men filling up a small space) and were introducing Samandriel to the wonder of brewed hops. They all came hustling over when I called. I hit play on the news clip I found.

“Breaking world news: the sudden deaths of some two thousand religious leaders are currently under investigation,” said the standardly square-jawed news anchor of Sioux Falls channel KDLT. “The Vatican has yet to issue a statement, but some are already calling this an act of God. All the men and women who have been found dead were either under investigation or under the suspicion of having engaged in a number of heinous acts, including bribery, embezzlement, and sexual abuse.”

“They’re all in Hell,” Crowley called out. I jumped at the sound; honestly, I’d forgotten he was down there. “Guarantee it!”

“Well, can’t disagree with that one,” Dean said pragmatically. “Maybe he’ll go for ISIS next.”

For the next several hours the news reports continued to roll in. Lord’s Resistance Army in the Congo, converted to peace. KKK disbanded. Dozens of Uighers in China thought to be dead suddenly reappearing. Unexplained desert explosions (which turned out to be Dean’s prophetic desires coming to fruition). So many reports were coming in from all over the globe that Sam eventually joined me in scouring the web for any tidbit that might help us pinpoint Raphael’s pattern. Unfortunately, the only similarity in the attacks had to do with religion; if someone was using God’s name as justification for some heinous act then they were either being summarily executed or, like an ecclesiastical branch of NAMBLA who mysteriously became eunuchs, ironically disfigured.

I couldn’t help laugh at that last one. When I showed it to Sam, he laughed too. The comfortable way we were sharing space and information made me realize how much my vitriol towards him had lessened. It looked like I was starting to compartmentalize this Sam and the one without a soul. It definitely made for less tension between myself and the two brothers (Dean’s attitude aside) and it was making it easier to work together.

It also gave me a front row seat to the Sam and Lucifer show.

By two in the morning I was still awake. Worry over Castiel’s continued absence and the slow decrease in incidents with Raphael’s signature had my nerves twisted tight. The others had retired, with Dean stinking up my bed and Bobby on the couch (Samandriel was on Crowley duty).

Eventually I said fuck it. I’d been staring at the same two words (“mysteriously eviscerated”) for five minutes. The fridge was stocked with beer. I grabbed a bottle and called out, “Want one?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Sam.

I walked over and dangled the bottle in front of his face. When he smacked it out of my hand I thought maybe the late night had shortened his tolerance for annoying little gestures. Rather than irritation, however, _terror_ was writ large on Sam’s expression. He shot to his feet, his chair clattering noisily to the floor, and cried, “No, don’t!”

Bobby snorted awake from the other room. I plonked my beer down in the table and held my palms out placatingly. “Sam?”

Having six and a half feet of crazed, muscled male suddenly lunge towards you is as startling as it sounds. Dulled by the lack of sleep, I failed to react (other than to let my mouth gape open in astonishment). He grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed my back onto the table. “Get out of her!” he snarled in my face. Then, after a beat, he cried, “Shut up, just SHUT UP!”

Sam’s hands wrapped around my neck. I pulled to no avail. Through the roar in my ears I could hear Bobby shouting at Sam. The latter let my air back in for a quick moment in order to elbow the former in the face. Bobby reeled away and Sam resumed throttling me. “Stop laughing at me!” Tears were spilling down his eyes. “I would have loved him. You have no right to say any of that!”

My vision faded. Before it left completely, a new figure entered the fray. I blacked out just as Dean smacked his brother on the back of the head with a bat.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Meet the New Boss” (SPN 7.01).


	18. 18

* * *

Sam sat in the middle of Bobby’s living room with downcast eyes. He looked as if we were putting him on trial. In a sense we were; he committed perjury, your honor. Justice demands he answer for his crimes. Let’s not forget the charge of attempted murder, the _second_ attempt on the same victim.

I rubbed the bruises on my neck. Castiel had yet to show or contact us, and Samandriel wasn’t strong enough, so the marks of Sam’s latest sin remained. The younger of the Winchesters glanced occasionally in my direction, his guilt and shame apparent, but most of his focus was on the interrogation being inflicted by his brother and his father-figure. “It’s not just flashbacks anymore,” Sam mumbled (another thing he’d been hiding: remembrances of his time in the _Cage_ ). “It’s more like… I’m seeing through the cracks.”

“Hallucinations,” Dean said flatly.

“Of what?” I asked hoarsely. Bobby pressed a glass of water into my hand.

“Of… Of Lucifer.”

Bobby and Dean exchanged glances. “So why in the hell would he be makin’ you see this post-apocalyptic shithole of a world?” asked Bobby.

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze briefly snapped over to one side before drifting back to the floor. I followed his eyes to the nothing in that corner of the room. “No one there, Sam,” I said quietly.

“I know,” he mumbled. “Sort of. I mean… he says I wouldn’t believe it otherwise.”

“You know that he’s not real,” Dean asked him urgently. “Right?

In a tone of weary resignation, Sam merely replied, “He says the same thing about you.”

I was done with this. If Sam wanted to hide his issues from the people that cared for him that was his business. I stood up. “I’m going to bed,” I announced. “And I’m locking the door.”

Sam squirmed in his seat. “That’s probably a good idea.”

I don’t know how they resolved it that night. All I know is that Sam got way, way worse before he got better, but eventually he did regain his sanity. It wasn’t without cost, however. Nothing good ever is.

What was waiting for me in the morning, however, was the last thing I was expecting. I was on the porch swing sipping my coffee when an all-too familiar Corvette came rumbling up the dirt road. I was still trying to comprehend why my car was here even after my sister (dressed quite amazingly in a conservative jeans and sweater outfit) leapt out of the driver’s seat and threw her arms over me, spilling my drink in the process. “Leenee! Oh, God, Leenee! I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“Josie?” I asked, bewildered.

“You’re okay, oh my God, you’re okay, I had to see for myself and-and I looked up Mr. Singer and Mr. Winchester to find you and did you know Mr. Winchester is supposed to be dead and he has a brother and, oh, thank God you’re okay!”

Josie slumped into my lap and burst into tears. I’m fairly certain she didn’t breathe once during that entire run-on sentence. The front door swung open right after her recitation ended to reveal a bewildered Bobby. He surreptitiously put his shotgun down before scratching his head under his cap. “Isn’t that your sister?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Did you give her your address?”

“No.”

“I found it,” Josie blurbled. “I looked it up.” She lifted her head, her amazingly makeup free face blotchy and tear-streaked.

“How?” Bobby asked, irked that his identity had been uncovered.

My sister stood up and began spouting a long-winded explanation about a search algorithm she’d developed overnight. I had no idea what she was talking about. Before our parents had died Josephine had established herself as the computer whiz of the family. She’d gotten all the logical, mathematical genes, I’d been the artsy, physical type. Mom and dad used to brag that they’d gotten the full set of geniuses, one on each side of the proverbial intellectual aisle.

“Okay,” I snapped. “I get it. Why the hell wouldn’t you just call?”

“I needed to see you,” Josie said. “This scary, but really _hot_ , guy showed up in my apartment, like _in_ my apartment, not at the door, and asked me a bunch of questions.”

Really short list on who that could be. “Blue eyes? Oversized trench coat?”

“Yeah. Who is he?”

Freaking Castiel. “Don’t worry about it. You still haven’t told me why you drove all the way out here to South Dakota.”

“He was so _mean_!” Obviously there was more Josie had to get off her chest before answering my question. “And it’s not like anyone told me if they found you and I was _so_ worried and—“

I slapped my hand over her mouth. “I’m fine. You can go.”

Josie backed up a step and folded her arms mulishly. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said: no. Not until I get an explanation.”

“About what?”

“You called Mr. Crowley—“ _mister_ … something I’ll never call that son of a bitch, “—a demon. That trench coated man appeared out of nowhere. And…” She gestured towards my car.

Shit. “And you looked inside.”

“Leenee, you have _knives_ in there. I’m pretty sure one’s made out of silver. Not to mention a bottle labeled ‘holy water’ and, like, a big container of salt. She fumbled about in her purse a bit. “And then there’s this.” She pulled out a well-worn softcover with two rather overdone men on the cover. The word _Supernatural_ shouted out from the top. “My coworker gave it to me. God, it’s _so_ good! There’s this whole series of them and they, like, talk about salt and silver and all that. Are you cosplaying as a hunter or something?”

Bobby palmed his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I opened the book to a random page and began to read. Somehow I managed to land right on a sex scene, and the rather detailed description of the man involved lifted my eyebrows. Then I saw the name. “Dean. The character’s name is _Dean_.”

“Well, duh. He’s got a brother named Sam and they go through all this stuff! Like, it totally ends with Dean going to Hell for his brother. Isn’t that, like, super sad? Why are you looking at me like that? Close your mouth. Rude.”

“Just put it away!” Bobby hissed. He grabbed the book out of my hands and jammed it back into Josie’s. “Hurry up, before he sees!”

“Before who sees what?” Dean asked as he tromped out the front door. He spotted the novel in my sister’s hands and immediately cried, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Dean,” I said warily, “this is my sister, Josephine. The one you talked to on the phone? Josie, this is Dean.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said in an incredibly bright tone. Her hand extended and she jutted her chest outwards, reacting the same way every female seems to react to Dean Winchester: like an idiot.

Dean immediately forgot about the novel, his eyes widening in appreciation. Through some quirk of genetics, my sister had gotten the shape of the females on my father’s side and had developed breasts of a rather generous size. It’s one of the reasons she made so much money twirling around a pole. Her muscles were also under a layer of carefully crafted curves, whereas the fat on my body was constantly burned off running after monsters. Our features were otherwise very similar, and I’m quite certain Josephine was doing a much better job than I to live up to the Busty Asian Beauty Dean was so enamored with. “Hello,” he crooned as he shook her hand lightly.

Josie giggled. _Giggled_. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered. I snatched the book back from my sister and walked back into the house.

After pouring a new cup of coffee I sat at the table and quickly skimmed through a few more (non-Dean-fully-frontally-nude) chapters. It was a blow by blow description of supposed events from Sam and Dean’s past beginning with the latter picking the former up from Stanford in order to look for their father. No dad, arrest, woman in white, Sam’s girlfriend burning on the ceiling just like their mother. What the ever loving fuck was this?

Sam walked in as I was peering at the last page. “Where the hell did you get that?” he wondered, aghast.

“My sister brought it.” I jerked my chin over to where Dean and Josie were smiling stupidly at each other. “How’s the sanity?”

“It’s… um… holding. For now. I’m so sorry.”

I slapped the book closed and put it on the table. “What _was_ that all about?”

Sam twisted his fingers nervously. “I thought you had black eyes.”

I swallowed an unexpected lump. “And I said something about… about the baby.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, aren’t we just a fucked up mess.”

Sam huffed out a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Welcome to the family.”

That was jarring. “I’m sorry, what?”

He shrugged. “Well, by now I’d think you’ve had enough crap go down because of us we should just start considering you family. It’s what we do.”

“Mine’s out there making googly eyes at your brother,” I said as I thumbed towards the front door.

“But still.”

I suppose. I mean, the Winchesters and I were closer than me and Josie ever were. But… “If that’s true then there’s a whole lot of Kentucky fried incest going on here.”

“Yeah, I’m not looking too hard at that.” He sighed. “So your sister brought the stupid book. Did she bring any more of them?”

“There are _more_?” Well, that could fill in a lot of holes. “Hm.”

Clearly panicked, Sam quickly requested, “Please don’t read them.”

“Why not?”

“As a favor.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to demand why I owed _him_ of all people any favors at all, but I restrained myself. I should get a massive reward for keeping my trap shut for once. “Fine. How did this ‘Carver Edlund’ know about all this anyways?”

As Bobby and Dean gave my sister “The Talk” (monsters were real, hunters made them dead, don’t freak out), Sam explained the enigma that was Chuck Shurley and his inexplicable status as a Prophet of the Lord. Apparently these poor individuals were selected out of a hat and were the mouths of God, seeing important events as they unfolded and ordered to record them as they happened. Hundreds of years ago these Prophets dictated what we know now as the Bible. Chuck’s version was this series of pulpy sci-fi books.

Sam was in the middle of telling me about a Supernatural Convention they’d been lured to by rabid fan when Josie and the rest of them came inside. “So this is what you’ve been doing,” she said quietly. “Killing monsters.”

I nodded. “Looking for the one that killed mom, dad, and Alex.”

“You could have died. You could have died and I would have never known!”

At that, my temper rose. I leapt to my feet. “ _You_ were the one that told me to get out of your life, remember? _You’re_ the one who said everything was my fault, so I should just go off and get my ass killed anyways!”

“Our parents just died! Our baby brother just died! What, you expect me to be all normal and shit? Especially after you told me it _was_ your fault!”

“IT WAS!” I was screaming into her face at this point. The three men had backed away. “That fucking vampire picked _me_ because of some sick fantasy he had.” My voice lowered, quivering with unaddressed fury. “And when I find the son of a bitch I will make it _slow_. He’ll suffer just like I did. And when I’m done, I‘ll stuff his balls into his mouth before I chop his fucking head off.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bobby shift his feet, Sam swallow, and Dean just straight up cover himself protectively. In other circumstances it would have been funny. Josephine, however, was looking at me as if I’d grown another head. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly, shocked to her core.

I wasn’t sure what she meant; whether it was what Louie Lee had done to me or what had become of me after I fled California. I mean, it wasn’t as if she really cared; Josie’s focus was always on Josie. Even when I was in the hospital recovering physically and mentally she had begged me to see _her_ misery, _her_ pain. Sure, I was the one who had been abducted and abused, but Josephine had been the one left to worry and deal with Grandma Park and the paperwork and all this other nonsense because I hadn’t been there.

Sometimes when I see Sam and Dean together it breaks my heart. Not for what had happened between us, but for how close and _brotherly_ they were. Our parents thought that the best way to insure their children came out on top was to foster a sense of competition between us. See, Josephine? Look at Evangeline’s gold medal. Why are you not so adept? See Evangeline? Look at Josephine’s grades. Why are you not so smart? As a result, the two of us looked at one another as rivals, not as companions, and she would die before we could fully reconcile.

I spun around, away from Josephine and away from the pitying gazes of Bobby Singer and the Winchesters. The heels of my hands dig into my eyes as I fought valiantly against the urge to rip my nails down my sister’s face. Fortunately for her, a gust of wind blew through the living room, upsetting several of Bobby’s notes and heralding Castiel’s belated arrival.

Josephine shrieked, “You!” as the angel’s knuckle rested under my chin and tilted my head up. I opened my eyes to those blue orbs and nearly wept with relief. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. He drew breath to call out my lie. “Not now, Cass. Just… later, okay?”

“‘Cass’?” Josie repeated. “You _know_ this guy?”

“From head to toe,” Dean said wryly. “Literally.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I looked back up, Castiel was staring at the elder Winchester, puzzled. “I do not understand. Evangeline has not made an inspection of my toes.”

“Yet. She’s seen the rest of you though.”

The angel cocked his head over. “Are feet examinations normally part of sex?”

“Well,” Josie said thoughtfully, “they _can_ be.”

Bobby made some sort of choked sound, Sam was clearing his throat, and Dean nodded pensively. “Only if you—“

I spun around and my hands flew up into the air. “Agh!” All sorts of unwanted information sharing going on here.

Castiel turned towards the basement stairs. “There is a demon here.”

“It’s Crowley,” I informed him.

“Crowley?” echoed both the angel and my sister. They headed towards our unwanted royal visitor, the former with fury and the latter with trepidation. The rest of us followed.

Since Sam was now ambulatory, we had shoved the so-called King into the panic room. Bobby had built the thing as a preventative measure, but its anti-demon, anti-spirit measures worked conversely as a fantastic prison. We didn’t even need to close the door unless we wanted to stop listening to Crowley’s endless stream of snide remarks. In fact, it got to the point where we were afraid Samandriel would smite the demon out of principle. Bobby convinced the angel to go elsewhere and into hiding rather than risk a surge of celestial energy that would no doubt get Raphael’s attention.

When we arrived, the demon was sitting on the cot poring through a dog-eared paperback of Dante’s Inferno. “O wearied spirits!” Crowley read, his voice laden with contempt, “come, and hold discourse with us, if by none else restrain’d.”

Castiel stiffened. “What are _you_ doing here?”

The King put the book down. He stood and smiled darkly at his erstwhile partner. “You know, I wonder which circle the little dragon there would fall into for defiling an angel of the Lord.”

“Cass, don’t!” Dean cried urgently as his friend barreled into the room and grabbed the demon by the front of his lapels. Josie clung to my arm as Castiel slammed Crowley up against the wall. “ANSWER ME!”

Crowley snarked something perverse, but I couldn’t hear him over my sister’s squealing. “You slept with the scary coat guy? What the fuck, Eva? Is he a priest?”

Sam and Dean had rushed over and were trying to physically restrain Cass. It was a lot of testosterone being thrown around, nothing particularly useful. “No,” I told her. “Why would you think he was a priest?”

“Crowley said ‘angel of the Lord’. I thought… no way.” _There’s_ the hamster finally getting back on its wheel. “Seriously? You fucked an _angel?_ What was that like?”

Yeah, there was something I never, _ever_ wanted to share with my baby sister. Instead, I grabbed Josephine’s arm and hauled her back up the stairs and out to my car. The men could continue their chest beating on their own.

I stopped at the driver’s side and demanded, “Go home.”

“What? Why? I wanna help.”

My eyes narrowed. Something didn’t seem quite right. “You’re taking this whole angel, demon, monster thing really well.”

Josie shrugged and made a bad attempt at looking innocent. “It’s no real super big. I mean, why not?”

“Uh huh.” I folded my arms and used the same glare I’d utilized when she’d stolen my favorite pair of earrings. “Spill it.”

My sister squirmed and, just as she’d done then, confessed. “Grandma Park.”

Well, that’s the last answer I expected. “What?”

“I _did_ freak out. I mean, come on, you’re carrying around an arsenal in your damn backpack! Either you were going postal or… I dunno! So I went to *halmonee*—“ Korean for grandmother, “—and she basically told me to get my head out of my ass. Leenee, she _knows_.”

“What?” I was turning into a parrot.

“I said that you called Crowley a demon and she slapped the ever-loving _fuck_ out of me.” Good. Someone needed to. “Said I was a complete *mongchongyi*—“ translation: idiot, “—for even _talking_ to a demon. Asked me if I’d gone to a crossroads or something. I don’t even know what that means.”

I did. And apparently Grandma Park did. I needed to go home and have a good long talk with the woman. While I was processing this revelation, Josie wandered to the trunk and grabbed my blade. “Here,” she said. “Grandma said if you come home she’d tell you where the sword _really_ came from.”

I cautiously took the sheathe. “What does that mean?”

“She said it’s older than you think.”

I brought the _samjeongdo_ closer to my face. The scabbard was new; I’d had to replace it after using it too many times as a makeshift shield. But the blade…? Honestly, I was no expert. It had hung over the mantle for years with only dad’s explanation to its origin. Who could say whether or not Grandma Park was telling the truth or losing her marbles?

My speculating over this supposedly old piece of metal was interrupted when Bobby’s screen door creaked open and then shut violently. I could hear Castiel and Dean arguing on the other side, but nothing clear came through until the latter roared, “BECAUSE YOU OWE IT TO HER!”

My sister and I exchanged bewildered glances. I had no doubt they were talking about me, but what about I had no clue. After a few moments (during which I pictured the two men were having a glaring contest), Cass burst onto the porch and marched his way towards me. Josie backed away as if he were a charging bull, but I folded my arms and lifted my eyebrows. “What?” I snapped.

“Don’t piss off an _angel_ ,” Josie hissed. “What is wrong with you?”

I ignored her. Castiel was looking down at me, his brow furrowed. “I…” His gaze shot over his shoulder to the porch where Dean was glowering. “We need to talk,” the angel muttered.

“About?” Burying apprehension behind a pissy attitude is a skill we should all strive to perfect.

“Come.”

The angel grabbed my bicep and began to pull. I dug my heels in. “Hold on!”

Castiel’s shoulders lifted and dropped with a weary sigh. “Please.”

There was more resignation than apology in his tone and that had my hackles up. “Go inside,” I told Josie. “You can stay in my room for tonight, but tomorrow you need to go home.”

“Fine,” she pouted. The girl actually flounced as she spun on her heel.

Cass tugged, his grip moving from my bicep to my wrist, and I allowed myself to be led.

We arrived shortly in My Clearing. The charred remnants of the holy circle fire were scattered here and there, but nature had seen fit to obliterate most of it. Castiel, however, didn’t release me. Instead, he brought my hand to his lips and gave my palm a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry.”

I slid out of his grip. “Sorry for what?”

“Death has agreed to help us. He will set everything up at midnight tonight. Someone will need to ensure Raphael does not escape Purgatory by going in with him.” I remained silent, dread lancing coldly through my veins. “I have promised to do this.”

My sword dropped to the detritus. I stared, dumbfounded. It seemed so much more real when he said it. I slowly lifted a hand…

And smacked the ever-loving _shit_ out of him.

Castiel palmed his cheek, his mouth hung open in astonishment, as I shouted, “You _stupid_ , martyring, son of a fucking BITCH!” I bent over, grabbed my sword, tossed the scabbard, and swung it at his neck. “You wanna die so bad, I’ll fucking KILL YOU!”

The tip scraped the bottom of his chin. He dodged my next swing, and the next, but the third he caught. Blood dripped from his closed fist. “Enough!” he barked.

I pulled and pulled. “Let go. LET GO or I swear to God—“

“When you calm down,” he growled.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN? I’m not going to fucking _calm down_ not now, not EVER!”

I gave another yank. His vessel’s blood made the metal slick and it slid out of his hands. With all the force I could muster I thrust it into his belly. Just like Zachariah, the blade pierced to Castiel’s vessel but did no real damage. He merely grimaced before grousing, “Are you finished?”

I let out a frustrated scream and shoved on the hilt. The angel stepped back as I moved forward. We came to an abrupt halt at the trunk of a tree, my blade stabbing into the wood. I wanted to rail at him, shout at him, but my throat had inexplicably clogged. “How _could_ you?” I managed to choke out.

“It was the only way.”

It was the quiet resolve that undid me. Others might have tried to convince me everything would be okay, that it all would work out, that maybe, _just maybe_ , things wouldn’t be as bad as they seemed. Not Castiel, no. He was as forthright with me as he always had been, not a bit of sugar-coating on his statement. It’s what made my heart open to him in the first place. It’s what made me hate him now.

My legs collapsed underneath me. Castiel jerked my sword out of his flesh. I heard it clatter onto some roots. He was down with me a moment later, kneeling down onto the leaves as he gathered my body to his. I clutched his tie and his coat, my teeth clenched to keep the waterworks at bay. “There was no other way,” he said quietly. “Death would accept nothing less for his aid.”

I shook my head. Of course he wouldn’t. “But why you?”

“I must take Raphael into Purgatory. His vessel can explode safely there and the souls may return to their realm. I am the only one who could possibly survive such an event.”

 _Possibly_. It was the sliver of a shred of hope, but it was better than nothing. I drew in a shuddering breath. _God_ , I was tired of crying, but the tears slipped down my cheeks anyways. “It’s not fair,” I whispered.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

The angel put one hand on my cheek, guiding my face upwards. He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. I melted into his arms and pulled at his tie.

We made love among the trees on top of Castiel’s coat, the midday sun shining through the branches. It was only our third time together, and it could be our last. He moved gently in me as my hands roamed his vessel, doing my best to memorize every muscle, every bone, every inch of flesh. If I couldn’t have him in life, I would at least have my angel in my memories.

I had found love. _Real_ love. And it was going to be taken from me.

Afterwards, as we caught our breath, Castiel wrapped his arms around me. Our legs remained tangled together. My head rested under his chin and I pressed my lips onto his collarbone. Though I was completely naked, he still had most of his clothing on; his bottoms were unzipped and pushed down, his white top unbuttoned, his tie… somewhere. I slid one arm under his shirt and pressed myself as close as possible to him. “It’s not fair,” I whispered again.

He held me tighter. “I know.”

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Hello, Cruel World” (SPN 7.02).


	19. 19

* * *

It took the Winchesters several months to catch up to me.

I was spiraling through a black whirlwind of violence, alcohol, and sex. Find a hunt and kill. Go for a drink. Fuck the first appetizing male that crossed my path. Wash, rinse, and repeat.

Sometimes there was more than one monster. Sometimes there was more than one bottle. Sometimes there was more than one body in the bed when I woke up. As long as there was little to no thinking between the activities I was good to go. I dreaded any moment of stillness, for that was then I found myself drowning in the memories of a set of ancient blue eyes.

Castiel was gone. Dead.

And the Leviathan had been let loose upon the Earth.

The bottle of cheap, unlabeled tequila I’d found in the nest of exterminated vampires behind me was doing a fantastic job of dulling my pain, both the physical and the emotional. Half a dozen fangs were stiffening back in the cabin, headless, the most I had ever taken on at once. See, without the Winchesters or the angel or Bobby I had gone back to my original goal: the destruction of Louie Lee. Best way to go about it was to start plowing my way through his kin.

I was debating whether or not to take care of my wounds here or at my motel when I saw the headlights swinging through the trees. In my haze I vaguely registered that the car’s sound was familiar. Light blinded me and my friend, Señor Cuervo, and I waited for the inevitable recriminations.

The doors creaked open and shut. “Eva?” Sam asked warily. I gave him a grin and took another swig.

“Holy shit,” came Dean’s breathless observation. “Did you… Did you take them _all_ out?” I didn’t bother answering. I mean, duh. Why else would I have been sitting there?

Both brothers brushed by me and entered the cabin. I heard them talking about this and whatever and something about how unbelievably stupid I was just as a twinge of pain ran up my ribs. My hand drifted to my side. When I lifted it to my face it came up dark. Guess one of them _had_ nailed me.

I staggered to my feet, tossing the now empty bottle off into the weeds and scraping my exposed sword along the deck planks. Better to get on my bike and get the fuck out before Tweedledee and Tweedledum started asking anymore questions. Except it was becoming remarkably difficult to put one foot in front of the other. Must have been the alcohol.

Footsteps rushed at me through the dirt. “Hey!” Dean exclaimed as he grabbed my arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

I yanked my limb out of his grip. “Home.”

“Yeah? Where you holed up at? We’ll come with.”

“Who asked you?”

“No one.” His lips twisted into that cocky smirk. “It’s what halfway decent people do, remember?”

Having my own words thrown at me wasn’t doing much for my temper. “Fuck you, Dean.” I threw my leg over my seat. Well, actually, I _meant_ to throw my leg over my seat; I couldn’t move my limb up far enough to succeed. Instead I fell face first onto the detritus. “God fucking damnit,” I mumbled into the dirt.

I rolled over as Dean knelt down beside me. He cocked his head over in confusion before opening my jacket slightly. “Ah, crap. Sammy!” The giant’s blurry form materialized out of the darkness. “Get the car started.”

Dean’s hands slid under my back and buttocks. He lifted me bridal-style. “Come on, Mulan. Let’s get you patched up.”

My head lolled backwards. I managed to grump, “Not Chinese, asshole,” before passing out.

* * *

I was beset by nightmares. Louie Lee and his flechettes. Zachariah crooning in my ear. Demons ripping my shirt. Sam‘s boot slamming into my pregnant belly. My brother on the coroner’s slab sans internal organs.

Birds singing. The rustle of wind-touched leaves. Sapphire eyes holding my gaze as he lowered me down to thick tan fabric…

Black dripping down from his scalp and pattering onto my skin.

I jerked awake, a scream caught in my throat. Sam was there a moment later. “Eva, it’s okay,” he murmured, “It’s just us. You’re okay.”

“Winchesters,” I moaned. “Why?”

“We heard about the nest, too. Had no idea you were in town till yesterday evening. It’s not like there’s a whole lot of motorcycle riding Asian women traveling the Midwest.”

Oh. That was a good point. Stupid non-diverse midwestern states. “Go away.”

He gave me a sad little smile. “Sit up a bit. I should change your bandages.”

My head throbbed mercilessly when I moved. A bottle of whiskey was on the nightstand. I grabbed it and plugged myself in; the pain receded. “Ah.” Sam’s eyebrows were crawling into his hair. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… um… hold still.”

I continued nursing the remnants of the precious liquid as Sam cut through the bloody dressing he or Dean had wrapped around my torso. He poked at my side and I hissed. When I peered over I saw a scraggly set of stitches over what must have been a knife wound. “Huh.”

“Looks like it’s not infected.” Sam grabbed a clean roll and began to rewrap the wound. “A half dozen vamps _by yourself_. Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” Hm. He smelled good. Wasn’t too sure what I thought about the mutton chops. I reached out and carded my fingers through his locks. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks?”

“You liked my hair, too,” I whispered. “Sometimes you would fuck me and do this.” My fingers tightened and I pulled. Sam let out a startled cry as his head wrenched back. I licked my lips and leaned in. “Can you fuck me like that again?”

“Eva, let go!”

“No.” I reached into the back of my jeans with my other hand and drew up the knife I kept there. It was more difficult than I thought, however, to put it on his jugular; I kept seeing two Sams. “If I killed you would you come back without a soul? Would you fuck me then?”

“Hey!” Dean barked. I hadn’t heard him come in. Stealthy motherfucker. The muzzle of a gun tapped my skull. “Drop it.”

I started to chuckle. It was just too funny! Here I was trying my best to die and now Dean Winchester was delivering. “Do it.”

“What?”

“Do it.” I pressed my blade deep enough for a line of wet red to appear. “Come on, Dean. Do it. DO IT!” I screamed.

He didn’t. Asshole. Instead Sam knocked my wrist away from his neck while Dean’s arm snaked under my chin. I still had my grip on Sam’s hair, however. They were shouting, I was choking, but eventually I passed out. Again.

By the time I woke up we were somewhere else. At first I thought they’d brought me back to the cabin where I’d slaughtered the fangs; it certainly looked similar. Then I realized that it was far more homey and a lot less blood spattered. The couch I was lying on was patched but comfortable, and the disapproving look Sheriff Mills was giving me would have done my Grandma Park proud. “So this is what you’ve been doing,” she chastised. “Drinking and hunting yourself to death.”

“Yeah,” I groaned as I pushed myself up. “And? You’re not my mom.”

“You should thank God for that. If I were, I might be able to smack some sense into that head of yours.”

A dull pulse was beating its way behind my eyes. A glass of water was sitting on the coffee table. I grabbed it and took small sips. “Where am I?”

“Rufus’ cabin up in Montana. Bobby’s house was burned to the ground.”

Holy shit. “And Bobby?”

“Out on a supply run.” Good. He was okay.

“Winchesters?”

“Witch hunt.” Jody sighed. “You’re an adult, and I can’t really do much to stop you, but I wanted to make sure you knew there were people out there who still cared.”

I knew that. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Good for them.”

Her frown deepened. “You know, you’re not the only one who lost him.” I blinked and put down the glass. “Sam? Dean? They lost a friend. I think for Dean it might be the only real friend he’s had for a good long time.” I knew that, too. I bent my head, but Jody was relentless. “The man cares about you. A lot. He was practically tearing his hair out when you left. It was real selfish of you.”

I drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You don’t need to apologize to _me_.” She stood up from the cushioned rocking chair and sat on the couch with me. “I just want to know why.”

The tears were flowing. I couldn’t have stopped them if my life depended on it. Her arm was around my shoulders as I let loose the first sob. “Because Castiel is dead,” I cried, “and it’s my fault.”

* * *

I wept in Jody’s arms for what felt like hours. God, I wanted a drink or a fuck or a kill. Anything to dig me out of this pit of despair. Eventually exhaustion, the hangover, or blood loss had me nodding off. Jody lay me back down and made the requisite promise that things would get better.

Several hours later I was startled awake by a cackle from an unfamiliar voice. Sam and Dean were back with a wiry man in tow. The stranger whistled at the sight of me. ”Look, boys. It’s the angel’s slut!”

“Shut up!” Dean snapped. He punched the man in the face.

The brothers continued wrestling the man down a set of stairs while I gaped. Bobby appeared in the front doorway and scratched under his cap. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey,” I said quietly. “What was that?”

“Got ourselves a Leviathan to play with.”

“Seriously? _That’s_ a Leviathan?” They weren’t very imposing if they were all skinny, bearded psychopaths.

“Sort of. They’ve been jacking people’s bodies.”

“What, like demons?”

“More like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, ‘cept they’re eatin’ folk instead of just replacing them.”

Ew. Bile rose up. “I _really_ don’t need to know any more. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Outside.”

I hauled myself to my feet. Bobby stood in my way. “Excuse me.”

“Do I need to come with you and make sure you don’t go takin’ off again?” While I had been passed out, the boys had hauled my bike to the cabin on the back of Bobby’s truck. Easy getaway device just sitting in front of the house.

I sighed. “No. I need to pee. I need to eat. After that you can worry I might go AWOL.”

He moved. I went out into the dark to use the outhouse for what I said (as well as a round of heaving up nothing) and returned to the cabin. There was nothing to bathe in, per se, but Bobby pointed out a stream a few hundred feet away that was clean enough to use. Bar of soap and a towel and I was off.

It was _cold_. Like, freezing your nips off cold. Probably for the best; it helped to clear my head. After washing, I crouched under the water and held my breath to think. Waves of icy water swept over my back as I interrogated myself. What day was it? What month? When was the last time I ate? When was the last time I really slept?

My lungs were just beginning to scream for air when someone shoved their hands into my armpits and hauled me up. I sputtered and shouted imprecations as whoever it was dragged me up into the dirt. “What the _hell_ were you doing?”

Of course it was Dean. “Thinking!”

“By drowning yourself?”

He was behind me. I twisted around at the waist to glare angrily at him. “Is _that_ what you think I was doing? There are a lot easier ways to commit suicide than that!” I flicked mud from my hands. “And now I’m filthy again!”

I stood up and the wind blew cold against my skin. It suddenly struck me that I was naked in the woods with Dean fucking Winchester. Regardless, none of this felt sexual in any way. Nope. Not even when his eyes started drifting downwards. “Go away,” I finally muttered.

“No.”

He obviously wasn’t going to move. Fine. If he wanted to watch me scrape dirt off my ass it was his time to waste.

I walked back into the water with the soap and rewashed. Once I was done I dried off, put the towel onto the dirt, and got dressed, all with an audience. I should have asked to get paid for my reverse strip-tease.

Water was still dripping down my back. I purposefully swung my locks forward and at Dean before grabbing the whole lot of it and twisting. “Why do you keep it so long?” he asked as he wiped drops of icy water off his face.

“Why does your brother?” I retorted.

“‘Cause he’s an idiot.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“You’re not stupid. Well, not _as_ stupid.”

“Gee, thanks.” I sighed and flicked my hands dry. “It’s a diversion.”

“They see long hair and see ‘girly girl’. Easy prey.”

“Wow, looks like you’re not stupid either.”

“Hey!”

“You started it.”

Dean threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes. “You’re the most annoying woman I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“I aim to please.”

A breeze swept between us. I shivered slightly and wrapped my arms around myself; all I had on were underthings, footwear, a pair of sweats, and a tank top. Dean stripped off his jacket and handed it over. “Here.”

“I don’t need your fucking charity.”

“Just—“ He huffed out an exasperated sigh. “You ever gonna stop being so fucking stubborn?”

I glared at him, and after snatching the dirtied towel off the ground began tromping back up towards the cabin lights. After several steps I heard Dean hustling to catch up with me. We walked a bit in an awkward silence. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Didn’t need to guess what he was referring to. “No.”

“Jody said you think it’s your fault.” I stopped in my tracks. “Why?”

“Because it is,” I whispered. I turned away from him and tried to hide my anguish under a harsh tone. “You were _there_. I fucked up.”

“You couldn’t have known—“

I whirled around. “Why are you trying to make me feel better? What, you think _I_ care what _you_ think?”

Dean stepped forward and jabbed me in the chest with his finger. “I don’t give a shit about what you think about what I think!” That wasn’t confusing or anything. “Maybe instead of being a hardass about all of this you _listen_ for once.”

I folded my arms. “Well? Go on. I’m listening.”

He mimicked the gesture. “Cass dug his own grave, okay? I know you cared about the guy, but he made the wrong choices and he paid for them. There‘s no reason for you to be blamin’ yourself for something that ain’t your fault!”

“What do _you_ care?” I hissed. “All you ever did was use him. Cass, heal me; Cass, take us back in time, Cass, fix my broken-ass brother! Did you ever stop to think he might have needed you, too? That maybe, once in a while, you two could have stopped thinking about yourselves for one FUCKING SECOND?”

I was screaming by the end. Dean, however, wasn’t backing down. “How the fuck were we supposed to have known what was going on when he didn’t tell us? Cass _lied_. FOR MONTHS! Hell, he fucking lied to you, too!”

“I KNOW!” Ugh. My head throbbed, I was freezing my tits off, and now there were tears threatening to spill. “I know.” God, I was tired of being angry, of being miserable, of… everything. My shoulders slumped. “Dean, can we just _not_ right now? Please?”

“Ah, hell.” The man rubbed the back of his neck and walked a few steps away. “Yeah.”

This time when Dean offered his jacket I took it. Sort of my unspoken peace offering for my fabulously bitchy attitude. We walked back into the cabin to find Sam and Bobby watching a newscast that had all our mouths hanging open. “The two men, who up until today were presumed dead, locked the doors and opened fire, leaving no survivors. Sam and Dean Winchester are now the subjects of a manhunt throughout the state of California.”

I looked up at Dean, who in turn wiped a hand down his face and asked his brother, “Leviathan?”

“Leviathan.”

“How?”

“It was the hair!” came a voice from downstairs. “Not too hard to lift some DNA out of a motel shower drain, guys!”

“He’s not dead yet?” I asked, baffled.

Bobby started ticking points off of his fingers. “Tried knives, guns, poisons, blunt objects. Even risked setting the son of a bitch on fire.”

“It tickled!” yelled the Leviathan.

“Shaddup!”

“Acid?” I wondered.

“Even made him eat the stuff.”

“Well,” Dean sighed, “what _is_ their plan, exactly?”

“Squeeze us,” Sam answered. “Turn us into the most wanted men in America.”

“All right. Well, that settles it. We find these ass monkeys, and we kill them ourselves.”

“Didn’t you just see that?” I snapped as I gestured at the television. “Every dick with a badge is going to be looking for you two!”

Aghast, Bobby added, “You don’t have a clue how to kill ‘em or slow ‘em down, and your plan is, what? Go right at ‘em? Genius.”

“They’re wearing our faces,” Dean growled. “This is _personal_.”

I rolled my eyes. _Boys_. Regardless of his misgivings, Bobby gave them the name and address of a professional forger, Frank Devereaux, who could get them on the track to temporary anonymity. “In the meantime, I’ll keep working on Chatty Cathy here, see if I can figure out what makes him die.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

“Might as well. Got any new ideas?”

“This place got a wood chipper?”

“Don’t I wish.”

“Well, then we’ll have to chop him into little bits manually.”

“Have fun,” Dean said as he and his brother headed for the door. “We’ll call after we catch up to these sons of bitches.”

* * *

Bobby and I got a few hours’ sleep before heading downstairs to eviscerate, exsanguinate, well, something-ate the Leviathan. He greeted us both with a look that managed to convey contempt and hunger at the same time. “I know what you look like naaa-ked,” he sang.

“I hope to God he’s talkin’ about you,” Bobby said to me.

I did too. More important, however, was, “How?”

“Oh we got all the inside info while we were in your feathered loverboy,” the Leviathan said smugly. “And I gotta say, what you two got up to was just—“

Two steps forward and my fist was cracking into his jaw. I couldn’t help myself. It turned out to be one hell of a mistake. A millisecond later and I was looking at my own, amused facial features. “Ah, fuck me.”

“Wow,” the Leviathan mused. “It is just all sorts of fucked up in here. How many men have you had sex with, girl? Because by my count I’m looking into at _least_ three digits.” It glanced upwards thoughtfully. “Let’s see. College dropout, University of California at Berkeley. Nice. Tortured and raped for weeks; boring. Turned you into a drunken slut, which isn’t much of a surprise. Oh now,” she laughed. “You’ve slept with Sam _and_ Dean Winchester? Aw, and you were almost Sam’s baby momma! That is just precious.”

The shotgun was in my hand and the trigger pulled before Bobby could do nothing more than make a stifled objection. It’s his fault for leaving it sitting there in easy reach. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much. “Woo!” whooped the Leviathan. “Do it again!”

Happy to oblige. Half a dozen blasts later and the thing just cackled. “Enough, girl!” Bobby scolded as he wrenched the weapon away. “Stop wastin’ my ammo. Here.” He handed me a machete. “Right through the neck.”

“Oh, come on,” complained the monster. I swept the blade outwards and was treated to the fantastically weird sight of my own head rolling on the ground.

Someone rapped on the door upstairs. I handed over the machete and went to answer it. The morning sun stabbed into my eyes as Jody grinned at me. She shoved a six pack into my arms. “Here. Wanna help me finish putting this place into some kind of order?”

“Do I have to?” I whined.

“No. But if you don’t, I reserve the right to glare at you judgmentally for the rest of the day.”

I scoffed at the threat, but went along anyways with helping Jody to clean up the cabin. With three bachelors in residence the place smelled faintly of unwashed human and rotting refuse. Dust coated many of the surfaces with the exception of those which involved sitting in front of the television or eating. Luckily, however, one of males had the gumption to clean the dishes; little silver lining along the whole thing.

Unfortunately, I was still recovering from my weeks of alcoholism. My hands occasionally shook as I wiped rags back and forth, and my stomach threatened to rebel when I found a mountain of rank, dirty clothing hiding in a cabinet. I found solace in the sharp, almost citrusy smell in one of Jody’s buckets, but when I knelt down to take a whiff I accidentally knocked it over. “Shit!”

“Ah, well,” Jody said sympathetically. The two of us knelt down to sop up the liquid.

I paused. Had I just heard the Leviathan? Did it actually sound… panicked? Before I could do any further speculating, Bobby flew upstairs in a rush, and when Jody stood up to apologize for the mess the man palmed her cheeks and gave her a big kiss on the lips.

The sheriff blinked. “Okay, wasn’t expecting that reaction.”

“What the hell was in that bucket?” Bobby demanded ecstatically.

“Power Clean. Why?”

“Where’s it at?”

I held up the concentrated bottle of liquid. “Here.”

Bobby snatched it from my fingers and hurried back towards the basement. The sheriff and I glanced at each other, baffled, before following.

A man’s screams exploded from the bottom room. The two of us rushed down the stairs to find Bobby gleefully tossing the remnants of the bottle of Power Clean onto the Leviathan. He’d warped back to his original form, the unprepossessing man he’d shown up in, shedding my appearance for what was probably a psychosis that was a lot less fucked up. Good thing, too; where the liquid had sprayed the thing’s skin was boiling, burning, the chemical eating its way through stolen skin and bone.

Finally tired of the Leviathan’s piteous wails, Bobby grabbed the machete and beheaded it. Jody pulled down a cardboard box from a nearby shelf, upended the contents, and held out the container. I picked up the black, burnt noggin and dropped it in. “I’ll just go and mail this to Guam,” said the sheriff. “Get someone to dump it into the Mariana Trench.”

She headed upstairs as Bobby’s phone rang. He pulled it out and asked, “Hello?”

“Bobby,” came Dean’s voice, “we got popped.”

A harried conversation followed. The Winchesters had finally caught up to their doppelgängers only to be surrounded and arrested by the local law enforcement. Cherry on top was the fact that the Leviathan had spotted them in turn and were more likely than not on their way to deal with them. Bobby shared his discovery with Dean (the basis being a chemical called sodium borate) before the call abruptly cut.

“Did he say where they were?” I asked.

“Ankeny, Iowa, last time they checked in.”

“Great. I’m heading out.”

“What, to go get ‘em? It’s almost a day’s drive!”

I headed for the stairs and halted on the bannister halfway up. “Just in case, okay? I promise I’m heading right to them and nowhere else.”

“You better be, girl, or this time I’m gettin’ the sheriff up there to look for you.”

Seeing as how Jody would probably sic some federal agency on my ass that was a pretty damn good threat. I repeated my reassurance to him, and gave another to Sheriff Mills, before suiting up and heading out.

I hit the Montana border with Wyoming in the early afternoon and had to pull over into a rest stop; someone was blowing up my phone with calls and messages. It was Dean, and when I returned his call, irritated at the constant buzzing in my pocket, he explained that Bobby had told him I was on the way. He apparently wanted to meet outside of Casper, but wouldn’t tell me why until we were face to face. I acquiesced, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Dean emerged from a rusty… something or other at the strip mall parking lot we’d agreed to. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

“Frank Devereaux’s idea. Assholes were driving around in a copy of Baby.”

Hold up. There was a definite lack of overgrown male in this scenario. “Wait, where’s Sam?”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “We’re… uh… taking separate vacations for a while. Look, I called you ‘cause I found this snoopin’ around the sheriff’s desk.”

He held out a manila envelope, one with the Ankeny Sheriff’s Department logo stamped on the front. “You found a hunt. So what?”

With a surprising lack of vitriol, Dean urged, “Just take it.”

I did. Inside were photos of bloodied young women, all of Asian descent, all with the same build and hair as mine. Accompanying reports states that they’d all been discarded naked, abused, with abject terror forever frozen on their faces. Maybe Dean was thinking I’d connect with the victims…?

Oh.

Oh, God.

“It’s a vampire,” Dean said unnecessarily. I could clearly see the teeth marks photographed by forensics. “Goin’ after women who look like you. I wasn’t sure, but—“

“It’s him,” I whispered.

“You sure?” I nodded; an echo of the slices and bruises on these women’s bodies was buried under my tattoo. “Then you ain’t goin’ after him alone.”

For the love of… “Fuck you, Dean.”

Stunned as I was about the revelation, I failed to prevent the man from snatching the folder back. “Give it back,” I growled. “NOW!”

He took a zippo from his jacket, flicked it open, held it precariously close to the paper. “You either let me come with, or this goes bye-bye.”

I took a menacing step forward and the flame flicked to life. Goddamnit. This was the closest I’d _ever_ been. It could be years before I’d get anything even remotely similar. “Fine.”

“Good.” Dean stuffed the folder inside his jacket. “Already called Bobby. He’s gonna come get your bike.”

I stomped towards my motorcycle and yanked the saddlebags off the back. When I returned to the other hunter, I snarled, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve seen where revenge gets you.” He opened the passenger door of his sedan. “And most of the time it just gets you _dead_.”

Dean wasn’t going to let this go. I threw my bags into the back seat and sat down in the front. My impatience I buried under malicious planning. How to stalk the thing. How to capture it. How long to prolong its suffering. Well, easy enough to steal the info while Dean was asleep. Might as well go along with the farce.

Nothing, no one, would keep me from taking my pound of flesh from Louie Lee.

Louie Lee, the vampire who’d raped me countless times; who’d sliced and whipped and burned his mark into the skin of my back over and over and over; who’d _loved me_ with all his unnatural heart, was figuratively around the corner. And after he paid for what he’d done to me, to my mother and father, and to my baby brother, I could find some peace.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps I’d have to contend with an eternity being haunted by a set of ancient blue eyes.

You just never know.

* * *

 **Acknowledgement** : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “Slash Fiction” (SPN 7.06).


	20. 20

The mile markers were just starting to go by at a good clip when a finger began gently tracing the cuff of my ear. “Stop,” I said with a smile. “You’re going to make me crash the car.”

“I can’t help it. Every inch of you is a wonder.”

“Yes, well, every inch of me will be splattered all over the interstate if you don’t stop tickling me.”

The appendage slid down my lobe, followed a vein on my neck, and lightly skipped across my nipple. I gave a startled gasp and the Impala jerked slightly over to the right. “Asshole!” I hissed as I corrected the wheel.

Leather gave a creak as he moved over. “You need to stop the car,” he whispered as his hand cupped my breast. “If you don’t, then we might have a problem.”

Lips were marking my skin. Delirious with lust, I took the first exit I saw, a dirt road ending at a familiar moonlit field. I turned the key and we were in the backseat, fumbling, kissing. He pulled off my bottoms, his cock was pushing its way in, my back was arching. My hips rose to answer his soft thrusts as I breathlessly murmured, “I love you.”

Blue eyes glowed with celestial energy. I had barely a moment to process who was on top of me before Castiel’s hands were wrapped around my throat. With pure fury, he roared at me, “THEN WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE?”

* * *

I woke with a scream, flailing about in the cheap motel sheets and swinging punches at nothing. The sound of a voice from the other twin crying, “Huh? Sammy?” partnered with the click and catch of a pistol cocking.

I gasped and gasped, my hands pressed to my eyes. “No,” I choked out. After clearing my throat, I said more clearly, “No, it’s me. It’s me.”

Dean sighed with relief. “Eva.” Sheets rustled in the dark. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I groped about in the dark until I found a bottle. It was a lukewarm, half-empty beer, but I guzzled it down anyways. Ugh, not nearly enough.

My own bed dipped slightly as Dean sat down and shook a rectangular container in front of me. I took the whiskey and took a shot straight from the bottle. _Now_ I was delightfully fuzzy. “Thanks.”

“Nightmares?” he asked. When all I did was shrug, Dean added, “We all have ‘em. No use hidin’ the fact.”

Another pull on the bottle. It loosened me enough to make me think that jumping the closest available male was a fantastic idea. If I couldn’t stop imagining the horrors, maybe I could fuck myself into oblivion. It had worked before. I thumped the liquor onto the nightstand before turning towards Dean and straddling his lap. My hands fisted into his shirt as I pressed my lips onto his.

“Whoa!” Dean cried as he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell do you _think_ I’m doing?” I whispered hoarsely.

His hold on me relaxed along with a portion of his resolve. I took the opportunity to dive into those sinfully shaped lips once again. He reciprocated, opening his mouth to let our tongues dance, and maneuvered us to the pillows on my bed. Then, much to my surprise, Dean lay us on our sides, wrapped his arms around me, and pressed my forehead against his chest. He kissed the top of my hair. “Sleep.”

“No!” I needed a distraction, damnit!

Dean sighed. “I want to. I do.” The bulge nudging at my thigh was testament. “But I don’t think you’re doing this for the right reasons. Rain check.”

I made a few, inarticulate grumbles before trying to relax. It wasn’t like being in Castiel’s arms; I didn’t feel that sense of unblemished security the angel’s presence had given me. But it _was_ warm and comforting. Dean still smelled wonderful. And when he started humming a rock ballad, his chest thrumming with every note, I couldn’t help giving in.

I woke up in the morning to Dean coming back into the room, fast food breakfasts in hand. “Coffee and breakfast burritos,” he announced.

“Mmm.” I yawned. “What time is it?”

“‘Bout 8.” He began unpacking the food. “You know you snore?”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do. Like a freaking chainsaw.”

The man began a throaty, ripping imitation of my supposed nighttime noises. In retaliation, I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He dodged it with a smirk. “You don’t hurry and get up I’ll pick the bacon out of yours.”

“Don’t you dare,” I growled as I flipped the sheets over. I headed to the bathroom and did my morning ablutions. By the time I got out (teeth and hair brushed, clothes changed) Dean was chowing down on a glorious tortilla wrap of eggs, potatoes, cheese, and bacon while spreading a map of the Midwest onto his bed. I dumped sugar and powdered creamer into my coffee and sat down at the motel’s sorry excuse for a table. “About last night…”

“That has got to be a first for me,” Dean said wryly. “Turning down a hot woman in my bed. We should mark the calendar.”

He chuckled at his own joke. I sipped my drink in silence, the thick aroma of my own burrito suddenly unappetizing. “I shouldn’t have,” I replied quietly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean was circling cities with a sharpie. Curious, I walked over and looked at what he was doing. “Look at all the spots Lou’s been hitting. Wichita, Topeka, Kansas City, Des Moines.”

“Yeah, he’s going north on I–35.” I swallowed nervously. “He likes the bigger cities. It’s how he found me in San Francisco.”

“Next big city then is Minneapolis/St. Paul.” Dean began folding the map. “Ready?”

I put my hand down on the paper. “Wait.” Something wasn’t right. “All this time Louie Lee was in hiding and now he’s suddenly leaving a body trail?”

The elder Winchester’s wheel turned for a few seconds. Then he sighed. “It’s a trap.”

Ding ding ding. “Around here,” I said as I drew a large circle around Lawrence, Kansas. “Wasn’t that where you guys said Crowley’s monster hideout was?”

“So?”

My gorge rose, the memory of that sinister voice and horrid stench invading my senses. “The Alpha. He said he could see what all his children were doing all the time. Maybe the communication goes both ways.”

“You think the Alpha told him you were there.” I nodded. “Well, that’s just freaking fantastic.” The other hunter resumed folding the map. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What was a bad idea?”

“Tellin’ you about this.”

Oh, here we go. I folded my arms. “Don’t try it.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re too close. Maybe I should call Sam and make you chill here.”

No way that was happening. He’d gotten me to sit out the Apocalyptic apex, but this time I was better informed. I bared my teeth at him. “Yellow-eyes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If your dad had held you back when you went after yellow-eyes, how pissed would you be?”

Comprehension dawned. “You read the stupid books, didn’t you?”

I’d gotten bored with drinking and fucking one sorry Sunday and had raided a bookstore. The novels in question were in a sale bin (buy one at 50% off, get one free) and I had splurged. The final book had included an excruciatingly detailed description of the man in front of me being devoured by Hellhounds. Whoever this Chuck Shurley was, he had issues.

Regardless, the blood-soaked tale of their revenge fueled journey had been interesting, if not written very well. Plus he’d gotten a lot of their body details wrong. Sam’s hair wasn’t _nearly_ that long.

Dean muttered a stream of profanities before throwing up his hands and proclaiming, “Fine! We leave in ten.”

* * *

I’d never been to Minneapolis before; most monsters stick to rural areas, ones that more resourceful law enforcement agencies would be less likely to hit. Forests, or any other natural expanse of land, are far more appealing to those with less human attributes. However, those that _could_ pass sometimes find the chaos of large cities can hide their proclivities. The smart ones, anyways. The dumb ones end up spitted on a hunter’s spear pretty damn quick.

The city was remarkably large and small at the same time. A sprawling urban metropolis was dotted by a thick group of skyscrapers right smack in the middle. There was water seemingly everywhere, ponds and lakes and reservoirs interrupting the landscape randomly, though it didn’t hold a candle to being able to look out of your window to the Pacific Ocean.

We rolled into the Metro Inn Motel at around 9 in the evening. I unfurled a map of the city and began circling the most likely places to find a sadistic, psychopathic, centuries-old vampire. Dean looked over my shoulder and I explained. “He needs somewhere isolated, but somewhere with an environment he can… he can work in.” Torture. Rape. Feed. “Minneapolis got hit like Detroit during the housing crisis. Lots of areas of just empty houses or hollow buildings.”

Once I was done, we both stood there and peered at the map silently. I became extraordinarily conscious about how close he was, how his elbow now and again brushed against my back as he rubbed his chin, how the scent of him had me desperately controlling the steadiness of my breath.

But… Dean wasn’t _him_.

 _It’s not fair_ , I heard myself whisper. _I know_ , said the dead angel.

Dean leaned towards the map, his shirt sliding along my arm. “There,” he stared as he poked an area alternatively lined with businesses and homes.

“Why…” Well, now wasn’t the time to get choked up by desire, particularly _unwanted_ desire. I cleared my throat. “Why there?”

“Lots of choice. Wide area. No one to hear anything. Guarantee if there _are_ people there they don’t give two shits about what some squatter’s doing in his basement.”

“Fine.” I hastily grabbed the map and folded it. When I spun around to go gather my things, Dean was alarmingly close, his pupils blown wide. Guess all those inadvertent touches weren’t so inadvertent after all. I tilted my head as he slowly and gently ran a finger down the side of my face. “What are you doing?” I asked softly.

“Nothing,” Dean replied, his voice dropping into a husky whisper.

I put a hand on his chest and pushed slightly. “Rain check, remember?”

His lips quirked upwards. “Gonna hold me to it?”

“Promise is a promise.” Why not? I knew from experience that it was going to be absolutely, positively, mind blowing.

Dean leaned in, close enough to make me wonder whether or not he was making good on it right now. “Good.” Reluctantly, he turned and walked towards his bags. I wasn’t sure whether I was more disappointed at my disappointment, or more disappointed that he didn’t follow through. Yes, I know. A woman’s mind is a fucked up tangle.

“You got duds?” he asked as he lay out a cheap suit and tie onto the bed.

“Uh, no.”

His eyebrows lifted at me. “How the hell do you get info then?”

“The old-fashioned way. By beating or fucking it out of them.”

I swear, Dean can go from horny to mortified quicker than any man I know. After gaping at me for a few seconds, he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. “I was thinkin’ we better grab some intel first,” Dean finally said, attempting to forgo addressing my methodology. “Police station, hospitals, morgue.”

“Okay. You go do that and I’ll go do my thing.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” he cried as I started marching for the door. “You seriously never worked a case like this before?”

“No.” Why should I? I’d been successful enough so far doing it my way.

Dean wiped a hand down his face. “Tell you what. We don’t get anything my way, we do it your way. Deal?”

I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Why?”

“‘Cause _your_ way’ll get you killed sooner rather than later.”

I fumed for a few moments, irked at the man’s audacity at declaring himself my caretaker, however indirectly it was. Well, if anything, hunters need to be adaptable. Might as well find out what sort of nonsense this sort of path entailed. “Fine. But I’ve got nothing to wear.”

“You go shoppin’, I’ll make you an ID. Meet back here in two hours?”

I shrugged. “Fine.”

Said span of time later and I had a serviceable pair of black slacks and a white button-up blouse, courtesy of the nearest thrift store. The pants were long enough to cover my boots, and their one-inch heels (which I often used as the focal point for my kicks) lifted me up enough to keep the hem off the floor. My hair I subjected to a plethora of bobby pins in order to construct a tightly knit bun.

Dean was dangerously handsome in a suit and a tie, his hair meticulously pomaded and his jowls carefully clean-shaven in order to facilitate his masquerade as a fake FBI agent. Judging by how I’d seen him normally, however, I knew his 5 o’clock shadow would return right on time.

He handed me a wallet with a badge. I opened it and sighed. “Seriously? Grace Park?”

“What? It’s a Korean name. I asked around.”

Asked who? Dwight Schrute? “Do you know who ‘Grace Park’ is?”

“No, why?”

And here I thought Dean was pop culture savvy. “You know, ‘Boomer’? Battlestar Galactica?”

“What? Boomer was a black dude.”

Oh. Forgot that the man’s tastes were stuck in the seventies and eighties. “Never mind.” I tucked the faux badge into a back pocket. “Let’s go.”

The initial face-to-face with local law enforcement went surprisingly smooth. I was surprised at how easily they caved once the word “federal” came into play. The morgue, however, was a different story, as the forensic pathologist was an elderly man who made it clear that we were stepping into his space. He also didn’t think I spoke English. In an overly loud voice, Dr. Burken told me, “No touchie the dead body, okay?”

Before Dean could leap in (I saw his fists clench out of the corner of my eye), I tilted my chin up and utilized the same glower my mother had once used when my sister came home with a C on her report card. “Sir,” I stated, clearly and imperiously, “I am _not_ deaf. In fact, I believe my agency supersedes yours by a good amount. Should I include details about all of the deficiencies I’m surrounded by in our report to the Bureau or will you let us conduct our investigation in peace?”

Dr. Burken scowled. He turned around and shuffled away, muttering, “Chinks and Japs and gooks speaking American, taking over jobs even in the government. What’s this world coming to?”

As soon as the door to the coroner’s office slammed shut, I gave the empty space the finger. “And fuck you, too, you old fucking racist.”

“Wow,” Dean said. “You go from sounding smart to sounding filthy really goddamn quick.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he called as I stomped towards the morgue, “it’s an asset.”

There were two local victims. We pulled out the drawer to the first one, Fen Li, 18, daughter of Chinese immigrants. Well, I can say one good thing about Dr. Burken: he was sensitive to the bodies on his slab. The crime scene photos had been horrific, but her face had been recomposed into a more peaceful mien. Her wounds, however, were undisguised. I suppose her parents would have an easier time once she was dressed, but in her nakedness we could see every single wound.

“Front ain’t so bad,” Dean murmured as he knelt down. “I can see the cuts on the back. Neck’s torn out, too. Probably how she died.”

“His signature move,” I said quietly. Feng Li’s preliminary report detailed a litany of inner and outer abuses, all congruent with having been tortured and sexually assaulted for an extended period of time.

_I do this because I love you._

The clipboard describing Feng Li’s last days in a racist old man’s neat and clinical words clattered to the floor. Did he love _this_ girl? The others? Was there something about _me_ that made me special, or was I just the “one that got away”?

I jumped as the drawer clanged shut, and then again when Dean put his hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Come on. Nothin’ more here.”

We headed back to the Impala. Strangely enough, Dean didn’t roar out of the parking lot like normal. Instead he stared pensively out into space for a few moments before saying, “Tell me about him.”

No need to clarify that request. I began to recite what I knew from Bobby’s research and my own gleanings. “Louie Lee, originally known as Liu Pengli. Over two thousand years old. Nephew of the 2nd century Chinese emperor. One of the first historically confirmed serial killers.”

“Vampire that lasted this long has gotta have a lot of tricks up his sleeve.”

I nodded and continued in a pedantic manner, distancing myself from intimate memories with straight facts. “Banished by his uncle for his crimes to what is now known as Taiwan. At some point he was turned. Started focusing only on women. Lore says that Lou—Liu was in love with a woman on the mainland and was devastated to be separated from her. When he finally managed to get his way back to her side, she rejected him. She was his first victim.”

“So he’s spent centuries just repeating the same shit. Why?”

“Trying to get it right. Trying to get one of…” One of _us_. _Me_. “One of his victims to love him back. Only problem is that he’s so fucked up he doesn’t understand why raping and torturing them doesn’t make them swoon.”

Dean was silent. After a few moments I realized he was staring at me. “What?” I snapped.

“You went through hell, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you went through _literal_ Hell. Kind of trumps, you know, everything.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t a woman. There’s things a woman goes through that a man can’t.”

I gave a shuddering sigh. “I guess.”

“Hey, look at me.” I did. “This dick’s gettin’ everything he deserves and then some, you hear? He ain’t slipping away this time.”

I blinked at him, stunned by the proclamation. Dean said it with such soaring conviction that I almost believed him. Hell, I _did_ believe him.

_I will protect you._

No. Echoes of the past would do nothing for me. Castiel was _gone_. This beautiful idiot was here, now, and for some goddamned reason wanted _me_ ; a completely fucked up head-case with delusions of revenge. It was time to move on. Before I could really think myself out of it, I leaned over, tangled my fingers into Dean’s hair, and kissed him.

It was meant to be something brief, a quick smooch at best. Instead we came back together, his lips working on mine, tongue prodding gently until I opened my mouth. Dean’s hand was cupping the back of my neck while mine continued carding through his short locks. Breathlessly, I urged, “Now. I need you now.”

“All right.”

* * *

Dean liked to speed, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a car going that fast on city roads. It’s a miracle we didn’t hit anything or anyone. We were kissing as soon as I’d stepped out of the car, my back against the frame; we were groping at the door as his hand fumbled for the lock; we were ripping our clothes off the second we stepped inside; we were on the bed, his body on mine…

But then Dean slowed. His kisses became gentler, though no less passionate. When he slid his hand down to guide himself to my entrance his eyes never left mine. “Eva,” he whispered.

It was exquisite how he glided into me, pulling and pushing in turns until he was comfortably seated. Now full, I moaned his name in turn. “Dean.” _Castiel_.

Those sinfully full lips were on mine again and Dean began to rock in and out of me, his hands stroking my face, my breasts, clasping at my hips. I hadn’t had sex sober in so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like not to be merely _fucked_ into oblivion. And though the man didn’t have the same, awe-struck reverence for the act that the angel had, it was still done with _love_. I could taste it in his kisses, feel it under my own roaming fingers, hear it in the way he moaned.

Dean wanted me. Did he love me?

My name fell from his lips. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

And suddenly I remembered how many horrors I’d been subjected to in the name of _love_.

I don’t know exactly what happened next, only that nothing made sense. Abruptly, I didn’t know who was on top of me. Was it Dean, the man who I’d so fervently desired outside of the coroner’s office? Was it Sam, the soulless creature using my body his own gratification? Was it Castiel, who haunted my dreams and waking moments with his accusations?

Or was it Louie Lee?

I began to scream, and the tone was jarring enough to let the man in my bed know it wasn’t from pleasure. I tried to take out his eyes. When he pinned my wrists to the mattress, I begged him to stop using me, to stop hurting me, to _forgive me_.

Shocked, the man on top of me extricated himself from our coupling, I scrambled off of the bed and slammed into a corner of the room. The pain of scraping against the cheap wallpaper jolted me halfway back to reality. I slid down the wall, my hands splayed upwards against any possible attack, and curled inwards as far as I could. “No,” I moaned. “No no no no no…”

“Eva?” the man said softly. I could see him crouched in front of me, one bare knee on the cheap brown carpet. “Eva, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

Dean? I didn’t know a Dean. It must be another _game_. I couldn’t take another one. No more. “Please.” I was nineteen. I was sitting in a pool of my own blood. I was going to be dragged to a bed and… and… “I wanna go home. Let me go home.”

A hand touched my shoulder. The instant I felt it I slumped. My hands fell. Tears flowed. Nothing I could do to stop it. He was too strong, too fast, too determined. I was weak. Tiny. Naive. I was going to die because I couldn’t fight back. I just had to wait and let it be done.

But nothing happened.

The man was shuffling about. A belt clinked. Patterned cloth was laid on my shoulders. It smelled… good. Like leather. Gun oil. _Dean_. “Dean?”

He knelt down in front of me. “Yeah, Eva. It’s me.”

I clutched his flannel around my body before bursting into tears. This time when Dean reached out to touch me I let him. I found myself wrapped in his arms, my fingers clutching his shirt, sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He held me tighter. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It sounds like what Castiel told me, but it wasn’t, and this difference is what made me ultimately choose an angel over a man. Castiel wanted to protect me, wanted to be my shield, but ultimately my decisions were my own. If I wanted to dive headlong off the Grand Canyon he’d let me; only he’d be certain to catch me on the way down.

Dean, however, was preventative. He’d already had this battle with Sam; a matter of who knew what was best, and in Dean’s case it was always himself. It’s why they were currently separated, as Dean had killed a _kitsune_ , a monster who had once saved Sam’s life, because the woman would, in his mind, undoubtedly murder humans again. I suppose some find it endearing, that he cared so deeply that he would risk being hated over allowing a loved one to be harmed.

I found it _stifling_.

But that night, overwrought by memories, I was thankful for Dean’s compassion, his understanding. He lifted me up from the floor and set me on the bed. The mattress creaked when he settled behind me, his arm drawing me in close. “Don’t go,” I whispered.

He kissed my hair. “Not now.” _I promise_ , added the angel’s voice.

I gave a shuddering sigh and fell into dreamless slumber.

* * *

In the evening, I woke up alone.

Of all the… well, maybe he was just out getting coffee. Or relieving blue-balls. I wouldn’t hold it against him. Mostly.

My phone buzzed from the nightstand. Ah, there he was. “Where the hell are you?” I snapped.

“My love.”

I froze. That voice. The blur of high-class English and Chinese noblesse. The whispers in my ears. The nightmares.

 _Louie Lee_.

I swallowed down the urge to vomit. “Where’s Dean?”

“He is here. He is so very, very pretty. Aren’t you?”

Nothing from the other end. “You’re _lying_.”

“I would never lie to you, my love.” The grating slide of metal against metal pierced the speaker. I could hear Dean’s grunts, then a yell that the man bit off almost as soon as it had escaped his lips. “See?”

“Let him go!”

“I could almost imagine him to be female. So beautiful.”

Louie would do it. Would inflict the same horrors on Dean that he had done to who knows how many women. “Don’t. Please. What do you want?”

“You, my love. Only you. And then I will let him go.”

“Eva, don’t!” Dean cried. “You son of a bitch, you deal with _me_ , not her—“

Flesh struck flesh, and the horrid clatter and thump of Dean falling pierced the speaker. He must have been tied to a chair. “Shh,” crooned Louie.

My jaw trembled. I would do this for him. We make sacrifices for the ones we love. “Where?”

“Lakewood Cemetery. Midnight. Please come alone, my love. I would hate to have to drink this one.”

He hung up. Tears slipped down my cheeks.

It was time I admitted it: I was starting to fall for Dean. It wasn’t the engulfing, absolute love I’d felt for Castiel, the kind that strikes you only once in your life, but it was growing. And why shouldn’t it? Dean Winchester was tall, handsome, brave, stalwart, the dream of most women in both looks and character. If it hadn’t been for… well. No use longing for the dead. Besides, I could no longer deny his feelings; I needed to acknowledge my own.

And then I remembered the first time I met Mr. Dean fucking Winchester.

_”I caught him lookin’ at this picture of us… them… whatever! Kept it in his pocket like some kind of fricking treasure… Because he said she was someone he’d loved. And at some point… at some point she died in his arms.”_

Guess it was time to fulfill that prophetic demise.

* * *

 **Author’s Note** : I didn’t put any warnings, but since you’re reading this far I figured you knew what you were getting into. And if not, I’m sorry!


End file.
